


Quills and Quarrels

by Chariton



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-21 02:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chariton/pseuds/Chariton
Summary: Alexandra Trevelyan is the fourth born child of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick and the family disappointment. Josephine Montilyet is the eldest child of House Montilyet and is set to drag her house upwards from ignominy. Years before the Inquisition, Kirkwall or even the fifth Blight, their paths meet as they both start their studies at the University of Orlais in 9:30 Dragon. This is a long, slow-burn AU and don't expect regular updates. If you feel I've missed a tag, please let me know in the comments.





	1. JCM

University of Orlais, Val Royeaux, 9:30 Dragon, Summer

Josephine restrained a gasp as her carriage came to a stop outside the main hall. Everywhere she looked students of all ages and races were flowing into the Welcome ball. She stepped daintily down from the carriage and glided through the throng. Glittering chandeliers hung over her head, the marble floors gleamed and rich tapestries adorned the walls. The university had spared no expense.

She found it difficult to keep her composure. This was hardly her first ball; for she had attended many during her years at a finishing school here in Val Royeaux. However, there was something about the University’s grandeur that made her feel like she was attending her debut ball all over again. Josephine mentally began running through her mother’s lessons on composure. It wouldn’t do for her to embarrass herself on her first true outing as the future head of House Montilyet.

Josephine paused by the buffet table and pretended to be examining the brandy fountain as her eyes darted around the room. She was searching for a familiar face in the crowd (an exercise in frustration due to the sheer number of new faces to learn and memorise) when she heard her name carrying above the din.

“Josephine! Over here!”

She turned on her heel towards the voice and restrained a smile. “Tristan Abélard! I thought the student life did not appeal to your refined tastes.” A young nobleman dressed in red livery sauntered towards her.

“Ah! But you made such a compelling case my lady,” He bowed low over her hand, the barest ghost of a kiss brushing her knuckles. “Besides how could I deprive myself of such a beauty?”

“Somehow, I think you would have survived such a travesty my lord,” She said dryly, noting Aurelie d’Argenteuil’s dirty glance over his shoulder.  
He placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me, milady.”

“Well then my good sir, allow me to balm your blow by escorting you in a turn around the ballroom.”

Tristan laughed loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding students and offered her his arm. She curtsied in mock reverence and gracefully looped her arm around his. Then arm in arm they began to circle the room. Josephine could feel many pairs of eyes watching them. Tristan was a well-known flirt and budding social influence. His parents were as noble as her own but they had the benefit of being an old Orlesian bloodline without the scandal of exile and disgrace to mar their reputation or trading contracts. He was also a budding bard.

She had only recently joined the Game in such a capacity and it had been due to Tristan’s encouragement. Their alliance was not formal but it was known. In the Game this was tantamount to announcing it via hiring a town crier. Even here, in the grand heart of thedosian learning, it was not safe to abandon the Game for the night. Her companion shifted slightly at her side and she inclined her head towards his.

“Look at them all! Nearly everyone who’s going to be somebody is here tonight.”

“Those that survive.”

Tristan chuckled as if they were sharing a private joke. “Now, now, my lady, it is simply the way of things.” He steered them aptly around a group of gesturing chevaliers to be who had clearly been at the wine. “Neither you nor I had a hand in the current state of affairs.”

Josephine interrupted him. “I know, I know! We must deal with the hands we have been dealt.”

“Then why does Orlesian natural selection bother you so?”

“Death will never sit easy with me. Why do you not call murder ‘murder’?”

Tristan’s arm tensed and he muttered, “Point taken.”

Josephine resisted the urge to sigh. It would not do for her to isolate an ally, even an informal one. She gently squeezed his upper arm and asked, “Are there any new faces here tonight that I should take note of?”

Tristan nodded slightly, barely visible to anyone eyeing them, and replied,” Well you’ve met most attending tonight; the Orlesian and Antivan nobility anyway. They are behaving as they usually do.”

“So, I should avoid the Attano brothers?”

“Maker yes!” He snorted and turned them just enough so she could see the brothers leering at a young countess.

“Any Ferelden’s or Free Marcher’s?”

“No dogs allowed tonight!”

Josephine covered her playful elbow to his ribs by pretending to point his attention towards a nearby sculpture with her other hand. She saw him smirk faintly out of the corner of her eye.

“Alright, alright! There aren’t any Ferelden nobles here but there are a few commoners. You know the royal father in law made his opinion of Orlais known at that quaint little Landsmeet of theirs.”

“And none dare to go against him?”

“Evidently not. He is the hero of their little war after all. He’s hardly a Cassandra Pentaghast looks wise but we can’t all be!”

Josephine smiled and noted that their turn about the giant ballroom was coming to an end. “What about the free Marches?”

“I heard rumours that a Vael was coming but no luck there. Common hearsay says that the Chancellor paid off any Kirkwall nobility that wanted to leave their blighted city.” He paused, making a show of weighing up his next words. “Ostwick, however, have sent us a Trevelyan.”

“Aren’t the Trevelyans’ the ruling elite in Ostwick?” she mused and, if her memory served her rightly (which it always did), a trading partner which neither Tristan’s family nor her own had yet to truly acquire.

“They are indeed. Apparently, Bann Trevelyan’s wife is from the Beaumont family.” They came to a gentle halt and Tristan started to move away. “I wouldn’t get too excited though. She’s their youngest and fourth child. Everyone thought she’d go straight to the Chantry.” With that parting challenge, he detached himself fully from her and bowed once more. She curtsied to him and they parted ways as easily as they had come together. His red livery was soon swallowed up by the crowds.

Josephine turned away from the dancefloor and directed her steps to a group of students who were standing near an open window. None of them wore Orlesian masks and she recognized several scions of Antivan merchant families. As she drew closer, the group parted slightly to allow her a place. She nodded to them and gave the usual greetings to those she knew, was polite in her introductions to the unknown members of the circle, and generally added to the lively debate about various Luxury taxes.

Her eyes though were scanning the ballroom. She dismissed masked Orlesians, glittering Antivans and the few wealthy dwarfs who had to be from Merchant’s Guild families. The rare elf was also passed over. She was commenting on the recent tax of dragon goods which had several Pentaghasts’ up in arms when she spotted her.

A young woman in blue was standing on the other side of the room. There was a noticeable gap around her and Josephine could see the stiffness in her shoulders even from where she stood. So, Tristan hadn’t been lying about the whiff of scandal that surrounded the youngest Trevelyan. Usually the Orlesians would flock to a scandalous subject but Trevelyan’s obvious lack of experience in the Game seemed to be acting as a counter to, well, everyone.

Or nearly everyone.

Josephine noticed that the Attano Brothers seemed to be drifting closer and closer to the other woman. Tristan’s red livery also appeared briefly in the group of students that were standing behind the brothers. She hummed underneath her breath before acting as though she had seen an acquaintance, excusing herself quickly from her conversation partners.

A few curious looks were thrown her way as she slipped through the crowd. Josephine, now set on her course, glided towards the young Trevelyan who had definitely noticed her approach if her sharp gaze was any clue.  
The Attano Brothers were within spitting distance of their quarry, and the flash of red showed that Tristan was ready to intervene, when Josephine finally reached the Free Marcher.

“Darling, it’s such a pleasure to see you again!” She air kissed each cheek. Trevelyan paused for a fraction of a second before smiling wanly.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady.”

Josephine stepped once to her right and Trevelyan obligingly turned away from the approaching threat. “I have not seen you in so long! It must have been months!”

“If not years,” the Marcher wryly agreed. A hint of a real smile was in the laughter lines around her blue eyes and Josephine suddenly felt the very real urge to smile back.

“How are you? Oh, and your siblings as well of course!” Her hand gestures broadened and her voice grew louder. Trevelyan twitched slightly, her brow furrowing.

“I am quite well, my lady. Robert is busy with the family estate and Evelyn has become a Lieutenant in the Templar Order.”

“Oh, your parents must be so proud!” Josephine leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “My parents despair of my younger siblings.” The Marcher laughed weakly and over her shoulder, the Attano brothers edged closer. Tristan had disappeared into the crowd again but she had no doubt that he was watching, if the prickling on the back of her neck was anything to go by.

“Isn’t that always the way of things?”

“Just so, my lady!” Josephine’s gaze flickered between her face and the visible approaching threat. Trevelyan’s eyes darted to her face and she paused, shoulders stiffening again, before holding out her hand.

“Would you care to dance with me? It’s been some time since I’ve had such an accomplished partner.” Josephine giggled loudly, just shy of an irritating pitch, and accepted her hand. The Ostwickian was not completely useless at the Game then. They moved as one towards the dance floor, joining the twirling couples. The Marcher was completely stiff again as she began to lead them in a rigid waltz. Josephine very carefully did not frown.

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” Trevelyan stumbled at the question. Josephine took advantage of the misstep and switched the lead to herself. Their waltz started to flow in time to the music.

“Alexandra. It’s, uh, Alexandra Dorea Trevelyan.”

“A pleasure, Alexandra Dorea Trevelyan.” She emphasised every syllable carefully and was rewarded with a faint blush. “I am Josephine Cherette Montilyet.”

“A pleasure, my lady.” Alexandra inclined her head and they settled into the dance. Josephine noted Trevelyan’s shoulders lowering and the slight relaxing of her rigid posture.

“What brings you to the University of Orlais?”

“To study history and to reconnect with my Mother’s relatives.”

“You didn’t want to study that in the Chantry then?”

Alexandra’s lips pursed. “No, not in the Chantry.” Josephine gently squeezed her waist. Trevelyan grudgingly adopted a more neutral look.

“You are going to be eaten alive by the Game,” the Antivan muttered.

“Was that a threat?” Trevelyan bristled.

“My point exactly,” Josephine spotted a red figure in the crowd, watching them, “and no, it was an observation.” Alexandra grew quiet for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, the Antivan could see the Attano brothers eyeing them both as they cornered another young woman. The music was starting to rise to its’ natural conclusion.

“What exactly do you suggest?”

“An agreement.”

“The terms?”

“I help you, you help me.”

“That’s a little vague.”

“You need me far more than I need you.”

Trevelyan looked at her. “This sudden offer of help wouldn’t have anything to do with me being the only high-ranking Ostwickian to join the University this year, would it?” Josephine almost smiled. Alexandra Trevelyan apparently did have some cunning lurking beneath that glaring social anxiety and obvious lack of experience in the Game. That would make this arrangement significantly easier on both of them. All around them, the music rose higher and higher.

“I will be head of my House one day and the Montilyet fleet is always looking to expand,” she replied diplomatically.

“That wasn’t a yes.”

“It wasn’t a no either. If you’re looking for definitive answers here, you have come to the wrong country.”

A muscle in Trevelyan’s jaw clenched. “Fine. I accept.” The music reached a soaring crescendo before it suddenly came to a halt. Josephine dipped Alexandra at the exact moment the melody ended and leaned down to whisper in her ear,

“Come find me in the University Library near the section on Tax Laws tomorrow at noon.” The Antivan gently pulled her upright before stepping back and curtseying. Trevelyan bowed low before stepping off the dancefloor and disappearing into the crowd in the direction of the main doors. Josephine started to walk towards the drinks table when she saw Tristan’s red livery out of the corner of her eye. She gave him a small wave and he nodded, raising his glass in a silent toast.


	2. ADT

Val Royeaux, 9:30 Dragon, Summer:

The din of the ball faded behind her as Alex strode away from the university grounds. Laughter was carried to her on the wind and the faint strains of music grew quieter and quieter till they faded to nothing.

The cobbled streets were filled with people, most of them going the way she had come. Their blank masks glittered in the lights pouring out of open doorways and uncovered windows but the extra light only served to deepen the shadows around their eyes. Alex stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked down at the street as she moved between the crowds of masked strangers. She swallowed and tried to ignore a particularly loud burst of laughter.

The further she walked from the university, the less crowded the roads became. Eventually the throngs turned to trickles and then to nothing at all. Alex breathed slowly in the empty streets. She counted each breath. Her shoulders relaxed and she glanced upwards.

The town houses were covered in ivy and the bright paint that greeted each person by day was muted in the moonlight. Above the rooftops, the White Spire gleamed and Alex could see the tiered lights of houses that rose higher and higher until the band of darkness that denoted the ‘ _Miroir de la Mère’_ ; the summer bazaar lay just above though she had yet to visit. The white marble blocky structure of the Grand Cathedral also poked out above the city that pressed in on every side. Alex snorted as she realised that the Cathedral lay opposite the University.

However, her faint smirk faded and her footsteps slowed as she started down a familiar street. The red brick of the Beaumont townhouse loomed overhead as she stepped into its’ shadow. She stopped outside the house and bit her lip. At the top of the front steps, the double doors of oak and steel seemed immovable in the gloom. Alex sighed and shook her head. She walked up the stairs but just as she was about to knock the left door swung inwards. A masked servant stood silently by the door. She let her hand fall back to her side and stepped inside. The door swung shut silently on oiled hinges.

The hall of the townhouse was large and practically every room opened on to it. Apparently one of her ancestors had been a bit paranoid about his wife’s love affairs and had changed the entire interior in one off-season from court as she entertained her lovers in the Dales.

Alexandra tried not to scowl as a voice floated through the hall, “Alexandra! You’ve returned. Please do bring yourself to my salon!” Trevelyan paused on the spot and eyed the closed front door. However, the masked servant started walking towards the back of the house and glaring, she followed him.         

The open door of her grandmother’s salon spilled light into the hall. She started to bite her lower lip again and her hands pulled at the edges of her blue coat sleeves. Hesitantly, she stepped through the open doorway. A long oxblood coloured couch faced her and her grandmother sat enthroned in the very middle. A small side table with a porcelain tea service stood next to her. Clémence Alexandrie Beaumont sat alone and unmasked in the panelled room, sipping from a gilded teacup.

“That will be all, Guillaume, _merci_ ,” Lady Beaumont decreed. The masked servant bowed low and Alexandra watched him leave. The click of the door echoed in the silence. Alex swallowed.  

“Grandmother—" Lady Beaumont silenced her with a wave of her hand.

“Sit.” Alexandra Dorea Trevelyan, fourth born of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, sat. The cushioned chair felt very large.  

“Grandmother, if I could just—” Her voice faltered under Lady Beaumont’s unimpressed eyebrow.

“Just what exactly? Hmmm?” The teacup was set down precisely onto the table. “Explain to me how the night wasn’t a complete disaster?” 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad!” At her Grandmother’s icy look, she pressed on. “No, really! I’ve made contact with some promising individuals who will—”

“I think you mean _individual_ Alexandra and I would hardly give _you_ the credit for that little _tête-à-tête_.”

“I wasn’t exactly an unwilling participant,” said Alex in a thick voice, blinking rapidly in the candlelight. Lady Beaumont’s lips pursed.

“By all accounts she went straight for you, sensing blood like a _petit requin_!”

“ _By all accounts?_ I only just got back!” She sputtered.  

“Do not say ‘got’; that is terribly common Alexandra. Besides which is that really what you intend to focus on?” she scoffed, her hand spreading in a broad wave. “All over the city word will be spreading of how my youngest grandchild is _une incompétente_ , how she is, how do you say?” she snapped her elegant fingers, “Ah yes, the easy mark!”

“Then let me try to fix this!” Alex pleaded, leaning forwards on the edge of her seat.

“No! It was a mistake to have agreed to this, oh I never should have let dear Maria talk me into this!” Lady Beaumont leant back into the couch and massaged her forehead. Alex wilted slightly as her grandmother shut her eyes and started muttering under her breath in Orlesian.  

“But you did!” Alex’s voice rose higher and she had a white-knuckle grip on her knees, “Mother convinced you and here I am, at least give me a chance to prove myself.”

Lady Beaumont’s hand dropped and her eyes snapped open. “You had that chance.”  

“Then let me fix my mistake!” Alex slid off the chair and onto her knees, reaching out she gently clasped Lady Beaumont’s hands. “ _Please_ Grandmother, I can’t go home. I, I can’t! Please!”

Clémence Beaumont sighed and softly extricated her hands. She reached down and framed Alex’s face.

“If you stay, there might be no future at all for you _ma chère_.” She leaned forwards and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“ _Please_ , Grandmother,” whispered Alexandra. The Lady Beaumont rose from the couch and Alex sat back on her heels.

“You will have your second chance but I will be watching and if you are in immediate danger, I will be sending you home.” Alex jumped to her feet and embraced her. Her grandmother’s frail arms wrapped around her.

“I promise I’ll be as careful as I can.”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm changing the perspective in each chapter and flitting between JCM (Josephine Cherette Montilyet) and ADT (Alexandra Dorea Trevelyan).  
> Glossary:  
> Miroir de la Mère - 'Mirror for Mother', the large reflective lake surrounding the Summer Bazaar in DA:I  
> Merci - Thank you  
> Tête-à-tête - Literally head to head but as an idiom it means a private meeting between two people  
> Petit requin - Little shark  
> Une incompétente - An incompetent person, an idiot  
> Ma chère - My dear, a term of affection used between friends and family


	3. JCM

Private Apartment, Val Royeaux, 9:30 Dragon, Summer

Josephine shut the door to her apartment with a sigh and slipped off her shoes. She padded along the hall, reaching up to undo some of her hairpins as she walked into the main room of her _bilocale_. The room was grey in the faint light of the moon, deep shadows clung to the heavy furniture and the faint scent of flowers filled the air. She sniffed and her forehead creased. The faded brocade curtains swayed in the summer breeze and slowly Josephine reached for the dagger she kept in her sleeve. A tinkling laugh filled the air and Josephine rolled her eyes in the gloom.

“Must you always be so dramatic Leliana?”

“What is life without a little drama, _non_?” There was the sound of a match striking and Leliana seemed to appear in a corner; steadily holding a small flame that she held to a candle.

“One of these days you will do that and I will stab you and then where will we be?” Josephine exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. Her friend hummed and continued to move about the room lighting candles. “Oh, you are insufferable!” She huffed and threw herself back onto the sofa; immediately regretting it as a corset bone dug into her side. Leliana just laughed again.

“Calm yourself Josie! I am fine! Now,” she paused and blew out the long match, “how was the party?”

“It was…interesting.” Leliana settled herself into a comfy chair facing the couch and Josephine tried not to squirm beneath her scrutinising glare. “You know I hate it when you do that,” she muttered.

“Do what _ma_ _chère_?” Josephine glanced at her friend and groaned at the wide-eyed innocence staring back at her.

She covered her face with her hands and sulkily mumbled between her fingers, “You know people say that you’re one of the best bards in Orlais but honestly, I just don’t see it.” Leliana made a sound of mock hurt. Josephine peaked through her fingers in time to see her friend hunch as if stabbed. Muttering beneath her breath she dragged her hands down and away from her face. “Oh alright! I spoke with the youngest Trevelyan.”

“Hmmm, Trevelyan…that is an Ostwickian name, yes?”

“Yes, she is the youngest of the ruling family.”

“Ah, so it was business not pleasure then?” said Leliana, sighing and leaning back into her chair.

“ _Si! Si!”_ Josephine waved her hand as if batting away the question.

“Strange. By all accounts you were rather _close_ on the dance floor.” Her friend’s voice had a slight edge to it and the Lady Montilyet looked over to see that Leliana’s piercing eyes had returned.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do whatever it is that you’re thinking! It is a business proposition, nothing more.”

“Yes, but does she know that?”

“Yes! She does know that!” Josephine exclaimed, sitting upright on the sofa.

“Well, I could make sure?” Somehow, someway a glinting dagger had appeared in Leliana’s hands.

“Leliana!” she groaned, “Whilst your, your, your protection is greatly appreciated, I know what I’m doing! Let me handle this, please?” The dagger disappeared and her friend sighed.

“Alright _ma chère_ , I will leave the little Trevelyan alone.”

“ _Grazie_ —”

“For now.”

“Oh, Leliana—”

“Peace Josie, peace!” Leliana laughed. “Calm yourself! Your little Free Marcher will be safe from me for a time yet. Marjolaine has need of me outside the city.” Josephine sighed and slumped delicately into the sofa.  

“Outside? You will be gone for some time then?”

“You know I cannot say,” Leliana replied gently. Josephine nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

“Of course, of course.” There was a delicate huff and a small breeze caressed her skin. The couch dipped beneath her friend’s weight and a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders. Josephine leaned into the embrace.

“What’s this hmm?” Leliana’s calloused thumb brushed her cheek. She could feel the tear smear itself on her skin.

“Oh, forgive me my friend! It’s just that, well, I thought you would be around for a little while yet.” Josephine sniffed and pressed into the embrace for a brief moment before pulling back. Leliana was openly frowning now. “Please do ignore me, I’m just in a funny mood I think. Perhaps some wine?” She managed a watery laugh and made to stand. However, Leliana’s hands came down to rest firmly on her shoulders.

“You are a terrible liar sometimes, your eyes say it all,” the Orlesian declared with a fond smile; the corners of her blue eyes crinkled with warmth. “Your mother left last week, no?” Josephine gave a long-suffering, albeit still a bit wet, sigh.

“Yes, she did. Why am I not surprised that you know this?”

“Because you know me _chèrie_.” At this Josephine snorted; she then tried to ignore the feeling that her old deportment tutor would sweep out of the shadows to chastise her.

“I doubt anyone knows you truly Nightingale.” Leliana rolled her eyes.

“Now you are just trying to change the subject Josie,” she sighed and her hands moved from Josephine’s shoulders to rest on her upper arms, “but it is alright to miss her, you know? I miss my _maman_ oh, sometimes it feels like every day.” Leliana’s eyes slid away from the Antivan’s face and seemed to fixate on a point just over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry Leliana,” Josephine whispered. “I did not mean to—” Her friend shook her head and her reverie faded.

“You did nothing my friend but listen to me, _s'il te plait_?” Josephine nodded and Leliana smiled. Her smile was a rare true smile, practically radiant and for a moment it was as though all the hardships of her years had faded. “A love like that is never shameful my friend so do not let it become so, yes?” Josephine sniffed and tried to stop a fresh wave of tears.

“It’s just, well, I’m at university! I’m an adult! I should be able to, to—” Her sentence broke and Leliana tilted her head to one side as she gazed at Josephine’s face.

“To what? Turn off your feelings?”

“No! Of course not, just, just, be able to get by without _this_.”

“Ah, Josie, there is your mistake!” Leliana’s hands moved to clasp Josephine’s and she smiled again. “ _This_ is a part of life I’m afraid and it does not reflect on you poorly, I promise _ma chère.”_

“I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” Josephine huffed.

“Not at all!” Leliana declared with a bright smile, “You are allowed to be scared _mon amie_ and you are more than allowed to miss your mother, I promise you on my honour as a bard.” She finished with a wink and Josephine chuckled wetly.

“Try to be safe while you’re gone?”

“Always. I’ll be back before you have time to miss me Josie!” Leliana promised. Josephine leaned forwards and wrapped her friend in a hug.

“Impossible!” She declared fondly and felt the shiver of a laugh wrack her friend’s frame. The Orlesian gently detached herself from the embrace before hopping off the couch.

“We will meet again Josephine. Perhaps next time I shall bring some pastries from that bakery you like?”

“Well…if you insist.” The Antivan felt the corners of her lips turn upwards as Leliana laughed and started to stroll towards the open window. The bard turned, winked, and dropped casually out of the open fifth storey window. Josephine rolled her eyes and dragged herself upright. Walking over to the open glass pane, she looked out into the dark night. It was the sort of deep darkness that heralded the coming dawn. There was not a single sign of her red-headed friend. Josephine bit back a yawn and closed the window. She drew the curtains and started to blow out the candles one by one. After all, she had a business meeting to attend that day.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note - I decided to use Italian for Antivan simply because I know a bit more Italian than my non-existent Spanish.  
> Glossary:  
> Bilocale - Two-roomed flat. A bedroom and a living room/kitchen combo.  
> Non - No (Fairly obvious I know but I thought I'd better put it in for the sake of thoroughness)  
> Ma chère/chèrie - My dear/sweetie/darling etc., used with friends/family  
> Si - Yes (also obvious, I'm only doing these the once, I promise)  
> Grazie - Thank you  
> Maman - Mother  
> S'il te plait - Please, informal version used with friends and family  
> Mon amie - My friend


	4. ADT

The University Library, Val Royeaux, 9:30 Dragon, Summer

Alex huffed as she rounded the corner to be faced with yet another dead end. She scowled and turned on her heel. Her coat billowed around her knees as she marched back the way she had come. Towering bookcases rose upwards towards the vaulted ceiling and dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the large rose windows. The still air seemed heavy with silence. A silence which she soon broke with a semi-strangled yell as she came to yet another dead end. A small giggle sounded behind her and Alex whirled to face its’ source.

Lady Montilyet stood there, leaning against the edge of a bookcase, and though her face was remarkably blank, Alexandra could see the faint hints of amusement in her grey eyes. Alex opened her mouth then after a moment’s thought, shut it again. She nodded to the Antivan and bowed slightly.

“A pleasure, my lady.”

“My lady,” murmured Josephine in reply with a faint curtsey. Alex fidgeted on the spot, those grey eyes evaluating her every move from beneath long lashes.

“The bookcases moved on me!” She blurted out. Instantly her stomach dropped and she could feel the blood rushing to her face. Why in the maker’s name had she just said that?

“I’m sure they did,” replied Lady Montilyet, a single brow arching and yes, Alex groaned internally, that was a faint smirk on her lips. “Please Lady Trevelyan, follow me. I know of somewhere we will be able to conduct our business in private.” The Antivan seemed to almost peel herself away from the bookcase before sliding in between the stacks. Trevelyan stood stock still for a moment. Then she shook herself and sprang to follow.

The Antivan glided swiftly and unerringly between the stacks, not pausing for a moment. Trevelyan tried to memorise the twists and turns they took but soon gave up. As they moved further inwards, the dust on the shelves grew thicker and the faint sounds of shuffling footsteps disappeared. In that moment, it occurred to Alex that perhaps she should have brought a dagger after all. She eyed Lady Montilyet from behind but the ruffles of her blouse hid any hint of a weapon. Though she blushed to note that somehow it still clung to her figure.

Eventually they turned a corner and came face to face with one of the many round stained glass windows. The window itself was bracketed by sturdy elm bookcases that had been varnished so many times they were practically black. There were also three couches that had been placed in front of the window in a box shape so that the window itself was the fourth side; a low table claimed the middle space. All in all, it was a pleasant little hideaway and, from the thick layers of dust on the shelves, not often frequented.

“How did you find this place?” Alex asked in a low voice. Josephine just smiled in reply before sitting down on the left couch and crossing her legs elegantly. Trevelyan bit back a sigh before throwing herself down on the opposite couch. A cloud of dust rose up and she broke out in a coughing fit. Coughs racked her ribcage as she leant forward. In the corner of her eyes she spotted an olive toned hand reaching out with a waterskin. She grabbed it and gulped down some water before freezing. Her coughs subsided as she looked suspiciously at the skin.

“Well at least you have some survival instincts,” Lady Montilyet said with a wry smile. Alex opened her mouth, shut it again and shrugging, took another gulp of the water before carefully handing the pouch back. “I retract my previous statement,” Josephine muttered, tucking the waterskin away in a small bag.

“If you were going to poison me, this would be a shit way to do it,” she replied bluntly. The smile fell away from the Antivan’s face and her gaze was locked firmly on Alex.

“How so?”

“It’s too obvious that it’s you for one thing.”

“True but you could have been poisoned either before or after our meeting.” Lady Montilyet leaned forwards as she said this. Her grey eyes bored into the Free Marcher but Trevelyan did not look away.

“Nobody stands to gain or lose anything by my death quite yet,” here she smirked, ignoring the tight feeling in her gut, “and there’s my grandmother to consider.”

“So, you intend to survive by using your grandmother as a shield?” Josephine arched her eyebrow.

“No. That’s why I’m here.” Alex spoke firmly, her back straight. However, Lady Montilyet seemed unmoved and merely leant back in her seat. She crossed her arms and the shifting golden ruffles of her dress gleamed in the sunshine. She reminded Alex of a cat; the way she had elegantly draped herself across her chosen spot and her piercing, predatory eyes.

“Pity, you were doing so well for a moment there.” The Antivan uttered. Alexandra tried her hardest not to scowl. She was frantically going over their conversation when Josephine continued, “You never admit a weakness, not to anyone.”

“Everyone already knows I’m bad at this!”

“There you go again,” Josephine sighed and brought a manicured hand up to rub her brow.

“But they do!” Alex spluttered. Lady Montilyet’s hand dropped from her forehead and she looked straight at Trevelyan.

“That is not the point I am trying to make,” Josephine said. Her voice was deceptively calm but Alex wilted beneath her hawkish gaze.

“Look, in, in Ostwick if I did that I’d be laughed at for being, for being” She stuttered and broke off her sentence. Her hands began to wring and she looked down at her lap. A soft sigh reached her ears and fabric rustled.

“In Orlais you will be laughed at if you don’t.”

“But I don’t understand _why_ and everybody seems to think I should already know and—” Alex kept her gaze fixed firmly downwards and blinked quickly.

“They call it the Grand Game for many reasons and like any other game it has its own rules that we all must abide by.”

Alex huffed and looked up. “And I’m guessing that some of these rules are purposefully made to stop outsiders from understanding the Game?” Josephine’s face had softened and she nodded.

“Precisely.”

“Well that’s just…just brilliant.” Trevelyan sighed and rubbed her forehead. “So, show no weakness is rule one then?”

“Rule one would be ‘Be the right type of person’,” replied Lady Montilyet with a wry smirk. Alex snorted and leaned back in her seat, sinking into the couch.

“Right, almost forgot where I was for a moment.”

“Don’t worry, the Orlesians will never let you forget.” Josephine’s lips were pursed and Alex paused for a moment. In the rich sunlight streaming through the window, Josephine’s brown skin seemed to glow. Her hair was not the straight black it had seemed in the candlelight of the ball but rather layers upon layers of differing shades of brown that all came to life in the sunshine. In the summer sun she was nothing less than glorious. However, her beauty was very different to the pale shades that Orlais seemed to favour and the Orlesians had long had a history of deeming difference to be lesser.

“So, I shouldn’t be surprised if I get called a barbarian then?” Alex smiled winningly at Josephine and the Antivan laughed lightly in response.

“I’m afraid that barbarian is reserved for the Fereldans’ along with anything dog related.”

“Ahhh,” Alex nodded in mock seriousness, “are the Avvar heathen barbarians then?”

“Indeed, however did you guess?” Josephine’s face was soft with amusement and the sun’s light was spilling over her jawline.

“Well I think it was down to my excellent tutor.” Trevelyan bowed her head towards the Antivan and was rewarded with a gracious smile.

“Speaking of, I suppose we should begin?”

“I thought we already had,” said Alex with a smile.

“Quite.” Josephine nodded. The Ostwickian sat up and the smile slid from her face. Her eyes were fixed on Lady Montilyet. The Antivan nodded again and all trace of good humour slid away. “Good. Let us begin.”    


	5. JCM 1/3

** Embassy of Antiva, Val Royeaux, 9:30 Dragon, Summer: **

Josephine Montilyet hid a smile as her thoughts turned towards the previous day. Alexandra Trevelyan’s frankness was both alluring and disarming. It was also incredibly frustrating. Yet Josephine could not bring herself to hold a grudge against the other woman. Perhaps it was her easy smile or the genuine way she spoke. The Antivan knew she had grown used to Orlesian manners but she had forgotten just how refreshing an honest conversation could be. Her mother had taught her the Orlesian way of thinking but at home she had been allowed to take off the mask; that quiet spot in the library had felt like an oasis of calm.

Trevelyan’s blue eyes had been even more disarming than her frankness. They were darker than Leliana’s ice blue but she had seen a wealth of thoughts swimming in them. However, her smile was what kept intruding on Josephine’s mental calm like a pebble thrown into a still pool. It had seemed genuine at the time and the Antivan had thought it to be so but now she couldn’t help but worry. Trevelyan was different and as such, the normal rules Josephine depended on to navigate these treacherous waters did not apply.

Lady Montilyet paused as she stopped in the middle of the pavement. She hid the sudden nature of her action by pretending to look in her bag for something. The back of her neck prickled and she could almost feel the eyes that she was in no doubt were present. Her stomach lurched and if she had been alone she would have sworn aloud. Trevelyan’s smile? Her sea-blue eyes? These were really the things that had imprinted themselves on her mind?

The other pedestrians flowed around her as she moved carefully to the nearby façade of a building. If Leliana were here, Josephine knew she would be insufferable.

The Antivan resisted the urge to sigh in public before closing her bag and starting to walk sedately to the Embassy building. She could see the edge of the gilt Antivan flag that hung from the building and quite determinedly she pushed away all thoughts of Trevelyan. She would see her again in a few days’ time – perhaps familiarity would lessen these troublesome thoughts? After all, how charming could a smile be after having been seen on multiple occasions?

Josephine breathed in deeply and ignored the small dissenting part of her that sounded distinctly like Leliana. The embassy loomed overhead. She walked towards the doors in a sedate yet stately fashion. Dipping her head to hide a nervous swallow, she reached up and tugged the bell pull. A light tinkle sounded though it was muffled by the door and she could hear heavy footsteps thudding closer. The door creaked inwards, its’ hinges screaming in protest, and an older gentleman appeared on the threshold. Unlike nearly everyone she had passed on her way to the embassy, he did not wear a mask but his face was just as unreadable. The deep wrinkles and bronzed skin was hidden beneath a white beard that was so short it hugged the side of his face. His clothes were what stood out though – a rich red doublet with slashed sleeves and a golden wave pattern embedded into the fabric. His collar was stiff, almost guarding his neck, and a simple golden chain rested across his shoulders. The seal embedded into the very centre of the chain was that of a ship covered in grapevines.

“Buongiorno, mia Signora Montilyet. Please do enter,” he said, stepping back and indicating with a hand that she should pass by him. Josephine dipped into a brief curtsey before moving past him and entering into the dim hall. The door hinges squealed as they were forced to close again. His footsteps echoed in the stone hall as the man moved in front of her again. His eyes were dark and assessing. They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity before he nodded. “Good, you’re not wearing a mask. Many of your predecessors made that mistake.”

“Sir?” In the empty room her voice seemed so loud to her ears and she had to resist the urge to whisper.

“A mask is an Orlesian folly. If you need to hide your face to hide your thoughts then you have no business being in our business.” He paused and smiled in a way that reminded Josephine distinctly of a shark she had once seen being lugged out of a fishing boat and onto the docks; all teeth and not a hint of mercy. “Of course, I should introduce myself. I am l'ambasciatore per Antiva: Niccolo Dandolo.” Josephine curtseyed deeply and bowed her head.

“It is an honour, Lord Ambassador.”

“We shall see,” he muttered. Then he clapped his hands and Josephine had to hide a wince as the blinds snapped up. Two servants that had been lurking in the shadows were standing by the windows. Light now flooded the hall and on the walls, that fairly dripped with wealth, she could see portrait after portrait of the predecessors of the man in front of her. They all seemed to be looking down at her in disdain from their gilt-framed spots. “Follow me to my study, we have much to discuss.” With that, he turned on his heel and began to climb the staircase that was in the centre of the room. She hurried after him but as she did, she heard the sound of coins clinking behind her as they were passed from one hand to another. She resolutely did not turn back to look at the servants behind her.

The Ambassador (for that was what she was privately thinking of him as) did not break his stride as he slid through an unexpected maze of back corridors on the first floor. Each step was unerring as he slid past paintings, vases, old clocks, side tables from every era and long bookcases packed with weighty tomes. Finally, he came to a stop at a dingy door that was tucked between two bookcases and pushed it open. Josephine scurried after him and had to restrain a gasp at the room that lay beyond the small door.

The ambassador’s office looked like it had been carved out of a fade dream of a scholar’s haven. Every wall was lined with fitted bookcases, thick red brocade curtains hung over the windows and the fireplace was surrounded with couches and chairs perfect for reading in. His desk was so old that the varnish had turned it black. Josephine noted that no papers had been left out on the desk. She also noticed through the window the delicate wrought iron bars that formed dangling protective metal vines. The window itself looked into an inner courtyard and she imagined that from the outside it would not appear dissimilar to its’ neighbours. All this she took in in a moment. Her eyes flicked back to the Ambassador and again his eyes appeared to assess her.

“Where would you like our discussion to begin sir?” Lady Montilyet inquired. Dandolo gestured towards the seats by the fire in answer. Josephine moved quickly to the seat on the left which was slightly lower than its’ counterpart. Niccolo Dandolo didn’t so much sit as enthrone himself. She demurely crossed her hands on her lap and watched him, waiting. The silence stretched out between them but Josephine did not speak. This was, she knew, another test. Perhaps of her patience? Or even her courage. There is nothing quite like sitting in an expectant silence to break a man. After a long period, which was probably a lot shorter than it felt, the ambassador nodded slowly.

“Our discussion shall cover many aspects,” he replied, picking up the conversation where it had left off. “An assistant to an Ambassador is a demanding job, you will not have the same level of protection from the Antivan crown that I enjoy but you will be privy to many…sensitive matters.” He paused again, his eyes boring into hers. She swallowed.

“Antiva is my home.”

“And the home of your family,” Dandolo stated. His words held no emotion, as if he was stating a simple fact. To him she supposed it must have been.

“Yes,” Josephine stated, her eyes meeting his. The Ambassador nodded once, his hands formed a steeple in his lap and, without actually moving, he gave off the appearance of leaning back in his chair.

“I find it better to elaborate on the pitfalls of this job early on. Several of your predecessors have found that piece of information exceptionally helpful.”

“I can imagine.” And she could at that. There were always whispered stories of what happened to traitors both here in Orlais and in Antiva itself; none of those whispered, furtive tales had a happy ending. The warmth of the study started to trickle away.

“There would be no shame in deciding to withdraw your application,” said the Ambassador. His eyes were still empty and his face still blank.

“Thank you, sir, but no.” Josephine refused to bow her head away from those black eyes and she kept her back ramrod straight.

“Very well,” he inclined his head towards her, “now we must speak of your family.”

“What of them?” Instinctively Josephine could feel herself tense up.

“The current financial status of your house to be more precise.”

“It is irrelevant.” The dark cloud of her family’s financial status was a constant burden. Her every action, every kindness, every cruelty, was constantly weighed against it. House Montilyet was entering its’ final phase and it would be her hands that would either raise it up or dash it down.

“Oh?” His eyebrow arched.

“It is irrelevant to this conversation because I will not bet the future of my house on a betrayal of my country. It would be a short-term gain struck down by an irreparable loss.” Josephine’s voice was level but she could feel her body tensing. Even the very idea of it angered and sickened her in equal measure. Her house’s downfall had been started by two selfish lovers – she would not let her own selfish actions be its’ final death knell.

“So, you will put the good of your country, and therefore your family, above any personal temptations?”

“Yes Sir. I will.” Again, she met his eyes and again she felt him assess her. She did not know if he found her wanting in some way or if he questioned all his applicants in such a manner. Considering the rather high turnover of his office, she suspected the latter; strangely this suspicion helped to tamp down the flickers of anger she could feel starting as he pressed her about her family.

“Good,” He stated. “Would you care for some tea?”

“If you would be so kind,” she murmured. He produced a bell hidden by his voluminous sleeves and rang it once. The study door was pushed open and a small trolley was wheeled in by a servant. An elegant tea service was laid out on top and a hint of Antivan Black tea wafted into the air. The tea service was quickly laid out on the table between them and the servant left as quickly as he had arrived. The ambassador poured the tea into the porcelain cups and handed one to Josephine. She waited for him to take a small sip before taking one herself. The rich taste burst over her tongue and she almost sighed. It was strange how lately even a simple tea could remind her of home. Opposite to her, the Ambassador also took a long sip before setting his cup down gently on the table. Josephine lowered her cup but she kept her fingers curling around the warm porcelain.

“Now we must speak of your Orlesian acquaintances here in Val Royeaux. I believe that one of your primary associates is one Tristan Abélard?” He asked brusquely.

“Yes, that is correct.”

“And the nature of that acquaintance is?”

“Business.”

“And the bard known as Leliana?”

“She is my friend,” Josephine said. The Ambassador’s eyebrow arched again.

“That is…unusual.”

“For Orlais or for a bard?” asked Lady Montilyet wryly.

“Both.”

“It was not easy,” she paused, gathering her thoughts, “we both had to agree early on not to speak of our own business transactions which…helped.” A wealth of history was being left unsaid which they were equally aware of.

“Yes, that was probably a wise choice,” he agreed slowly. “In your opinion, will your friendship be a problem?”

“No Ambasciatore. Leliana endeavours to not involve me in her career.”

“And her patron?”

“Marjolaine does not think me to be useful I believe.”

“That could change.”

“It could,” Josephine nodded, “however I do not deem her to be useful either.”

“A rather prideful observation,” murmured Dandolo.

“I prefer to think of it as accurate. La Donna Marjolaine cares for herself and her advancement in Orlais. Anyone else is merely a stepping stone.” She had to restrain a grimace. She did not understand Leliana’s infatuation with the woman. Marjolaine was beautiful and charming but the things Josephine had heard! Perhaps she was over-exaggerating, after all the woman had never deigned to meet her but nor had Leliana ever seemed all that keen to introduce them herself which spoke volumes in and of itself.

“Marjolaine does have a reputation for serving her own ends,” acknowledged the Ambassador, dipping his snowy white head. He reached for his porcelain cup and took another slow sip of tea. He set it back down and asked, “What about your most recent associate? The Ostwickian?”

“Trevelyan?” Josephine started slightly and very firmly did not think about Alexandra’s smile. “She is my student, I suppose you could say. Politics mostly,” she hesitated again, squashing a small flare of guilt as she continued, “her time in the Free Marches left her unprepared for Orlais.”

“And what do you receive in return for your political tutelage?” The Ambassador’s fingers had returned to their former steepled state and he seemed almost intrigued, if such an emotion could be attributed to one so skilled in hiding his true face.

“A possible future trading partner of course.” Josephine resisted the urge to swallow again as her throat suddenly felt very dry.

“Hmm. Do let me know if the status of any of your associates changes. We like to keep track of such things here,” Dandolo informed her. She nodded in reply and focused on her tea. “These coming days shall be a trial period for us both,” he continued. “I shall see if I can work with you and you shall see if you can work for me. I shall see you out and you shall return here tomorrow morning after your introductory lecture at the University. I believe it is on accounting?” Josephine nodded and tried not to feel too hunted by his casual knowledge of her timetable. Such things would be publicly available and hardly that difficult to find by Orlesian information gathering standards. The Ambassador’s blank face almost melted as he gave her a faint approving smile. “Good. I think you will find tomorrow to be quite interesting.”


	6. JCM 2/3

** Embassy of Antiva, Val Royeaux, 9:30 Dragon, Summer: **

“What the….” Josephine murmured as she rounded the corner. A stream of richly dressed people were entering the embassy, faint strains of music spilled out into the street and she could see a line of gilded carriages waiting to drop off their passengers.

Dandolo had most decidedly not mentioned this. Nor had anyone else. How could she have missed an entire party being set up?

_Oh Maker._

What was she supposed to do? Should she go in? No! No! She couldn’t! Could she? Her mouth felt dry as her stomach roiled.

She had to. If she wanted this job, she had to.

Josephine swallowed and pressed her palms into the fabric of her practical but plain work clothes. Then she began to steadily walk forward. With every step she took, she felt her mind bleed away until the whole situation felt like a dream. As she reached the steps to the embassy and steadily climbed them, slipping in behind a member of the council of heralds, she hoped vaguely that this was some sort of fade nightmare. Maybe she’d wake up and it would be this morning again?

The weight of stares hit her as she stepped fully into the entrance hall. There was a group of women on her right who instantly snapped their fans out to hide their lower faces; she could see their shoulders shaking with laughter. Josephine turned away from them, feeling every swish of her common clothing, and walked forwards on numb legs.

Her head felt heavy and slow like everything around her was happening too fast for her to even comprehend. Her mouth was still so dry that her tongue felt thick and leaden. She swallowed again and the sound practically deafened her roaring ears.

Don’t hunch your shoulders, she thought, don’t turn around and walk out, don’t trip, don’t, don’t don’t!

Her breathing came faster and faster. She paused, remembering to look around for Dandolo’s distinctive figure, and took in a deep breath. She held the breath for a count of three just as her Mother had taught her before breathing out gently between pursed lips. She repeated the pattern again and again as she moved through the crowd.

People parted before her. A small but noticeable gap formed around her wake. Conversation hushed then rose as she passed. Josephine ignored the mocking glances as well as she could before she spotted one of the liveried servants of the embassy passing around drinks. She approached the server purposefully and ignored the giggles she heard following her around the room.

“Excuse me, could you please tell me where the Lord Ambassador is?” Her throat grinded out the words and she held back a wince at the servant’s upturned brow.

“Of course, Lady Montilyet, he is currently on the first floor leading a tour of the portrait gallery,” the servant paused and handed her a drink, “go up the main stairs and follow the rails to the right. The portrait gallery is at the front of the embassy.” Josephine nodded, downed the drink and handed the glass back.

“Thank you for your assistance,” she murmured politely; the words flowed almost as smoothly as the waters of the Rialto bay. The servant bowed her head in reply and Josephine turned away. Lady Montilyet slid through the crowd, smiling at all who crossed her path. She glided up the stairs, passing by some of the most powerful people in Orlais, who were watching her with ghoulish interest, and made her way through the crowd to a grand pair of double doors that had been pushed open to reveal a wonder of a room.

The portrait gallery was large, it’s ceiling the height of two normal rooms at least, and every wall was covered in art. Josephine recognised several paintings that she had only heard of from her tutors. There was ‘Andraste on the Pyre’ by the Unknown Antivan, the ‘Vine-laden ship’ and many more. There wasn’t a single window in the entire room and instead it was lit by special rune-inscribed balls that had been ordered from the White Spire over an age ago; they still worked just as well all these years later. Her eyes darted to the centre of the room where she saw the Ambassador holding court.

As she walked closer she could hear, “…And over here you see the famous Avvar bear painting which is said to draw people into madness! Of course, I have noticed no such effects,” he winked and a burst of titters broke out, “this was acquired by one of my predecessors, one Ambassador Auditore, in the early years of the Blessed Age.” Josephine cast a suspicious look at the bear painting as she watched the Ambassador laugh and joke with the crowd like they were old friends. There was not a trace of the cold, sceptical man she had met yesterday. She waited quietly at the back of the group, hiding behind…was that Duke Bastien de Ghislain? She didn’t recognise the woman on his arm but she had heard about his long-time paramour Madame Vivienne and this woman seemed to fit the description. She was broken from her thoughts by a booming laugh and the Ambassador’s voice saying, “Ah, Lady Montilyet! Please come join me at the front.” The group, which consisted of some of the most notable people in Thedas, turned to look at her. Josephine resisted the urge to swallow.

“It would be my pleasure, Lord Ambassador,” she said, inclining her head to the curious dignitaries. She walked around the edges of the cluster; her fingers twitching as she resisted the urge to grab the corners of her jacket. She stopped just shy of Dandolo. She bowed to him and he nodded to her in return.

“This is Lady Montilyet who is to be my new assistant!” At that there was a smattering of laughter. Josephine gritted her teeth while Dandolo smiled his shark-smile, “Yes, yes, it’s very exciting to have some new blood in the place. Tell me, Lady Montilyet how fares your knowledge?” His eyes were fixed on her as they had been the day before; assessing, cold and cynical. “I mean, of paintings and such?”

“As I am still a student,” she inclined her head respectfully towards him, “I would say that I still have much to learn Lord Ambassador.”

“Ah, humility! A truly valuable virtue that is its’ own reward.” He turned and smiled brightly at the assembled laughing guests. Then he waved forward a servant that had entered with drinks. “Please help yourself to the finest Antivan Wine and take as much time as you wish to drink in our magnificent gallery.” The guests dispersed in twos and threes and Dandolo, beckoning a second servant to him, turned back to Josephine. “Pietro here will guide you back to my study. Wait for me there,” he ordered coldly, his genial smile sliding away as he looked at her. Josephine bowed to him and quickly followed the servant from the room. Behind her she could hear voices start to rise and she couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying.

She looked downwards as she followed Pietro through the thronging crowd and into the back corridors of the embassy that had been barred to guests by a single red rope barrier. The noise of the party dimmed and faded slightly as they made the many twists and turns to reach Dandolo’s office. Josephine frantically went over the events in her mind. Had she missed something, anything? Flashes of mocking looks and laughter rang in her ears. Her eyes began to water slightly. She shook her head and looked upwards once more. They were passing a familiar vase when Pietro stopped suddenly. He opened a door, gestured her inside, and shut it again smartly behind her as soon as she had crossed the threshold; he did not follow her inside.

The study looked much the same as it had done yesterday. There was not a scrap of paper on the desk and some drawers had obviously been locked. She sighed.

Maker preserve her.

Josephine drifted away from the door and pretended to be artfully examining a painting on the wall. Glumly she counted the mistakes she’d made. Dandolo had probably expected her to find out about the party so she should have been dressed accordingly. Except she didn’t so she had just worn her normal clothes. She looked down at her outfit and bit back a groan. Alright, she’d failed to find out about the party, she hadn’t dressed appropriately and her panic must have been obvious, especially after she’d downed that drink. She groaned as the full force of her actions hit her. Maker, why had she done that?

This coming talk was going to be humiliating, she could feel it. Dandolo would summarily dismiss her, she wouldn’t get the job she needed and coming to Orlais would have been for nothing. The faces of her family drifted across her mind and she started to blink rapidly as her eyes watered.

She’d failed them.

Who would make sure that Laurien, Antoine, Yvette and Edouard had a decent life? Would her parents have to step in? Mama would be so disappointed in her but she’d hide it and smile and say oh, how happy she was to have Josephine home. Laurien would have to leave his books and Antoine his boats as they scrambled to fix the damage she’d done. All her siblings would have to leave childish things behind. All the things that brought them joy would have to be pushed aside, packed away into chests and left to rot in a damp cellar or a dusty attic.

She rubbed her brow and breathed in deeply. She breathed out and rolled her shoulders as she straightened up once more. Then she began to pace. 

Alright, alright. So, she hadn’t won the job she wanted, needed, but there were plenty of opportunities in Orlais. Her work with Tristan could bear fruit; bards were a necessity of Orlesian society. Trevelyan had links to the Beaumonts, maybe she could see if they had any positions open? If not, there were hundreds of Antivans who lived and worked in the Orlesian capital. She nodded to herself. The Montilyet house would not fall into ruin by her hand, she vowed to the empty office. She stopped her pacing, sighed gustily and started to plan her next move or three when the door opened behind her.

Josephine turned just in time to see Dandolo sweep over to his desk. He sat behind the writing desk and drew forth a sheaf of papers. The Ambassador then looked up and beckoned her over. Lady Montilyet swallowed and stepped over to the desk. Dandolo leaned back in his chair and waved a hand towards another seat. Josephine quickly grabbed it and placed it in front of the desk before perching on the edge of the chair.

Dandolo remained silent for a long moment as he viewed her. Although she half-wanted him to just get it over with, she also stayed quiet. Finally, his lips parted as he began to speak,

“What do you think the point of today’s exercise was?”

“Exercise Sir? I’m afraid I don’t quite…” Josephine swallowed at his hard look. “I suppose to see how I dealt with the unexpected, Lord Ambassador.”

“Partially,” he nodded, “though there were several other factors.” His gaze remained fixed on Josephine. She remembered the laughter and mocking looks that had followed her around the party.

 “How I dealt with Orlesians when they are being less than…kind, sir?”

“That was certainly an aspect of it,” he paused and his voice lowered, “the third facet can be summed up as humility.”

“Humility? I…I don’t understand, Lord Ambassador.”

“Humility is its’ own reward but it is a virtue that many of your predecessors failed to cultivate.” Here he smiled coldly, “Many people from all parts of society have tried for this post over the not insignificant amount of time I have held this office: from Merchant Princes to be to several Antivan Crows. It has been my experience that those who have been raised in the higher echelons of society such as yourself have tended to be more…prideful.”

“And unable to deal with humiliation I imagine,” she replied. Her mind raced as she picked apart his words. Did this mean…no, she must have failed his test, she must have.

“Quite. In diplomacy, there will be times when for the greater good of your country, you must be willing to let yourself be personally slighted, perhaps even humiliated yes.” His hands formed a steeple in front of his chest and his eyes remained trained on her.

“Sir? May I ask how I, how I—”  

“How you did?” Dandolo interrupted.

“Yes Sir.” She nodded, dipping her head to break eye contact.

“You did well. You didn’t have a nervous breakdown outside the embassy which puts you ahead of a quarter of my other candidates. Inside the party, you kept your head and sought me out as quickly as you could. You were visibly nervous but that is something we can work on.” He smiled a small smile and Josephine felt hope begin to settle warmly into her chest. “I would commend you on maintaining your manners throughout. Not only to me but also to the serving staff – many candidates have released their frustrations on my staff in the past to their…detriment.” Josephine nodded quickly.

“I’ll remember that Sir.”

“I have no doubt that you will.” He rose from his seat and Josephine quickly copied him. Dandolo held his hand out to her and Josephine shook it. “Welcome into the service of the Antivan Embassy, Lady Montilyet.”

“Thank you for having me, Lord Dandolo.” She let go of his hand and bowed as gracefully as she could from behind a desk. The Ambassador nodded and waved his hand towards the door.

“Come, we must return to the party. I want you to remain by my side as the event continues. There are many people here that you will be seeing again in the future.” Josephine smiled, her happiness sweeping away her lingering doubts.

“It would be my pleasure Sir.”


	7. JCM 3/3

University of Val Royeaux, 9:30 Dragon, Summer:

Sunshine filled the main courtyard of the University. Swathes of green were broken here and there by grey pathways. The cool stone buildings rose around the square in a protective shield. Josephine’s head was tipped back and her eyes closed in bliss when she heard cloth rustling as someone sat down on the bench beside her. She cracked open an eyelid and saw Tristan Abélard lounging indolently next to her. In deference to the heat, he was wearing a smaller mask that only covered his eyes.

“Good Afternoon Tristan, how was your art lecture?”

“Ah, I will never understand why green is the colour of envy when red serves it so much better!” He laughed. Josephine smiled and tipped her face forward, opening her eyes as she did so.

“I think you mean red is the colour that suits you better.”

“Oh!” He placed a hand over his heart, “My lady Montilyet you wound me yet again.”

“I’m sure.” She smirked.

“Well,” his lips twitched, “I suppose I shall survive. Though I have heard am interesting rumour of a near-death experience of your own, care to share mon amie?” Tristan asked, leaning towards her.

“I would hardly classify it as near-death.”

“So, something did happen?”

“Yes Tristan, you’ve found me out,” she replied dryly, “I am clearly keeping a terrible secret.” She rose gracefully from the bench and the Orlesian quickly jumped up to offer his arm to her. She linked her arm with his and they began to walk towards the eastern gate. “But if you must know I was recently offered a position at the embassy with Niccolo Dandolo.”

“A position?” Tristan’s smooth steps faltered. “That is, ah, excellent news Josephine. You must be one of his youngest assistants though?”

“Only but yes, most of his other assistants were older than I am,” she replied. She looked over at him and saw his jaw clench. Josephine hid a frown. “Of course, I will be in training for years.”

“Yes, of course,” he muttered. He shook his head a fraction before turning a winning smile towards her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Trevelyan.” His voice was carefully light and good humoured. Josephine was instantly suspicious.

“What about her?” she asked, matching his tone.

“Well, I know you reached her first but I don’t suppose you could share?” His cheery voice was so at odds with his words that Josephine stopped walking and stood still. Her shoulders tensed as she pulled her arm from his and turned to face him. He was biting his lower lip, almost unconsciously; she suddenly remembered that he almost always wore a full-face mask.

“I don’t see why I would need to, Tristan. Unless there is something I should aware of?” She asked with an edge to her voice. He glanced around them and tilted his head towards the empty portico of the eastern gate. They walked side by side to the colonnade, through the entrance and into the covered tunnel that ran underneath the university buildings and out towards the library gardens. The tunnel was empty and she turned to him again, searching his face in the dim light.

“My parents wish for me to,” he paused, “attain her.”

“Attain?” She replied sharply. The memory of Trevelyan’s smile flitted through her mind. Her eyes did not waver from Abélard’s white face. Her stomach felt like it was burning.

“They want me to—”

“I can guess what they want you to do.” Her voice was even but Tristan flinched.

“You have the whole of Orlesian society to pick from, why do your parents need you to attain Trevelyan? She is the fourth born, she will hardly net your parents any amount of wealth or prosperity.”

“They do not want me to keep her,” he muttered. Josephine breathed in sharply.

“No,” she blurted out. Tristan frowned, his mask shifted slightly.

“But why? Do you want her for yourself?” The casual mocking in his voice that Josephine had heard turned against others so many times made her bristle.

“No!” She huffed. “It’s just that I have tied myself to her already. If something were to happen to her the Beaumonts’ would come for me not you.” Tristan nodded slowly and Josephine had to hide her relief as he seemed to accept her logic.

“I will mention that factor to my parents but I don’t know if…” He trailed off and looked at her meaningfully. Josephine inclined her head towards him.

“So, noted.” She stepped away from him and gave him the slightest of curtseys. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a prior engagement.” Then she swept away without waiting for a reply.

The tunnel quickly fell away as she made her way into the bright sunshine once more. However, the magnificence of the library gardens was lost on her as she strolled across the open space deep in thought. She had to manage the Abélards’ without losing her…acquaintance with Tristan. She almost scowled as she thought about him. How dare he ask her that? How dare he! Trevelyan was not some sort of prized horse to be traded around on a whim.

She steamed silently as she climbed the front steps to the library. He’d been almost surprised when she’d said no. Did he really think so little of her? Of her dignity? Her morals? She fumed as she signed the entrance book, the pen clasped tightly in her hands. And his parents! Ugh! She almost threw down the pen when she stalked away to the inner staircase of the library.

His parents would have to be dealt with sooner rather than later. Trevelyan was still vulnerable after all. She dredged the edges of her memory and remembered darkly that the Abélards’ had always been excellent at hiding their skeletons. She hadn’t been in Orlais long enough to know where to dig but…. oh yes, the Beaumonts’ might know where to start. A vicious smile flashed across her face but there was no one around to witness it. Josephine, content with her plan, began to smooth out her features when suddenly, as she turned a corner, she crashed into somebody. She teetered on the edge of falling backwards when she was grabbed and almost pulled forwards. She fell but a warm definitely female body broke her fall. She pushed herself up and was about to glare at the woman beneath her when she stopped dead. A familiar pair of sheepish blue eyes were looking up at her. All thoughts of plots and Tristan faded away.

“Of course, it’s you,” she sighed.

“Um, sorry?” Trevelyan replied hesitantly. “Oh! Uh, here let me um, move.” Alex tried to get up, using her forearms to move her upper body upwards. All she managed to do was to press her body flush against Josephine’s. The Antivan swallowed and prayed she wasn’t blushing.

“Let me go first,” she ordered. Trevelyan froze and Josephine quickly moved off of the Ostwickian, rising to her feet as gracefully as she could. Alexandra looked up at her, still half-off the floor. “Oh, come on then.” Josephine extended a hand down and Trevelyan shook herself and scrambled to grab it as she levered herself up.

“Uh, sorry again,” Trevelyan muttered. She ducked her head downwards.

“Don’t look down.”

“Um, what?” Trevelyan’s head snapped upwards. “I mean, why?”

“Body language is a major part of how you conduct yourself in the Game. Ducking your head like that, it draws attention to you.” Josephine explained. Alex frowned, her brow furrowing.

“Which is the exact opposite of what we want me to do?”

“Precisely. You also need to stop moving your face.”

“What?” Trevelyan looked adorably confused. Josephine felt a rush of fondness fill her. How could she ever have thought that the Ostwickian was anything less than sincere?

“Facial expressions give away your thoughts.”

“Which is bad.” Alex nodded.

“Yes, and the reason why many people wear masks in Orlais.” Josephine gestured towards the corridor and they both began to walk to their meeting spot. She could see Trevelyan noting their route out of the corner of her eye and almost smiled.

“But they don’t always wear masks?”

“This is true,” Josephine hummed. “They often take them off in the company of close friends and family members.”

“So, if an Orlesian takes off their mask, it’s a sign that they trust you?” Alex asked.

“Not always. It depends on the context.”

“They might be trying to make me think they trust me?”

“Just so.” Josephine nodded. They rounded a corner and came to face the large window and comfortable couches that surrounded it. Dust still lay heavily on the shelves and Josephine could see their footprints from the week before.

“You weren’t joking when you said you knew a place,” muttered Alexandra. She restrained a smile as she nodded in reply. Then Josephine glided towards her couch that remained relatively dust free whilst Trevelyan again threw herself down on the opposite sofa.

“How have your courses been?” she asked. She always found it best to start with a neutral yet topical question.

“Alright? I mean, I’ve only had the introductory courses but they seem like they’ll cover some interesting things.” Trevelyan shrugged and Josephine raised her brow. The Ostwickian straightened up in her seat and managed to mostly stop every thought appearing on her face. “I will be starting my training next week.”

“Not as a chevalier I presume?” Josephine tilted her head in interest.

“No,” Alex smiled, “I don’t really want to dedicate my life to the Empire.” At Josephine’s reproving look, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to say that to an Orlesian.”

“No but your face will every time they mention the Chevaliers.” Trevelyan made as if to argue before stifling a sigh and bowing her head in acknowledgement.

“You’re right, forgive me.”

“What is this chevalier’s name?” asked Josephine. Alex almost leapt at the different topic.

“De Nesle? His first name begins with an L I think?”

“Marquis Louis de Nesle?” Josephine almost frowned. She had heard of him, of course. Apparently, he was a brilliant swordsman but his temperament could be…varied. She looked at Trevelyan again and could almost see the disaster unfolding.

“Yes, that’s him!” Alexandra’s cheerful smile slid away as she looked at Josephine’s blank face. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked flatly.

“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with him,” the Antivan coughed.

“You’re about as convincing as a nug.”

“Please don’t tell me you bring up nugs in polite conversation.” Josephine held back a groan as she pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

“No! Of course not,” Trevelyan shuffled on the couch and avoided the Antivan’s eyes, “but anyway, what’s wrong with him?”

“Marquis Louis de Nesle is an upstanding and _highly placed_ member of society. There is nothing wrong with him.”

“Oh,” Trevelyan muttered looking thoughtful. “So, he’s just a bit of a bastard then?”

“You cannot call a Marquis a ‘bit of a bastard’!” Josephine’s voice dropped to a whisper as she admonished her student.

“A nasty piece of work?”

“ _No._ ”

“Fine! Fine!” Trevelyan threw up her hands in surrender. “Not always the politest of company?”

“Yes,” Josephine sighed, “that will do.”

“So, another Orlesian rule is you can’t say what you really think about people?” asked Trevelyan, her eyes twinkling as she smiled. Lady Montilyet restrained a snort.

“That is a general social rule as you well know.”

“I might have heard of that one before. _Might_.” Trevelyan’s smile was so warm that Josephine couldn’t help but smile in return. Alex looked delighted. She was so beautiful when she was filled with such good cheer. Her eyes lingered on Alexandra’s finely featured face. Tristan’s words rushed back to her and her smile faded. Alexandra immediately frowned and leaned forwards. Her hands gripping helplessly at thin air, like she wanted to reach across the gap between them.

“Are you alright?”

“Ah, not quite.” Josephine smiled again, trying to soften the coming blow. “I am afraid I must tell you something rather uncomfortable.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Trevelyan’s frown deepened and her body grew tense.

“Do you know of a Tristan Abélard?”

“No. Um, should I?”

“He’s an associate of mine.”

“A friend?” Alex asked. Josephine hesitated. She then remembered his flattering voice asking her ‘to share’.

“No,” she swallowed, “he’s more of an ally than a friend. His parents have asked him to,” she paused, her lip curling upwards in distaste, “to attain you.”

“Attain?” Trevelyan frowned. “I don’t quite understand? How can he attain me?” Alex looked completely befuddled.

“They want him to ah, bed you.”

“B…bed me?” Alexandra’s eyes widened with dawning horror.

“Yes.” Josephine did not let her eyes drop to her lap, though she dearly wished to look away.

“What else?” The Ostwickian asked faintly.

“They want him to bed you but not to stay with you. They are probably hoping to turn it into a scandal to use as leverage with your family.”

“But, that’s not…I can’t.” Alex flinched. “I don’t think my family would do anything but, but,” her voice grew small, “take me back to Ostwick.” Her eyes stared into the middle distance. Josephine shifted in her seat and instinctively, desperately wanted to move to her side. She held herself back though.

“You _need_ to pass this information along to your Grandmother.”

“I thought you said that I shouldn’t depend on her?” Trevelyan smiled sadly, her eyes refocusing on Josephine.

“There is no such thing a rule without exceptions,” she replied softly. Alex nodded and looked down at her hands. A deep silence fell between them.

Josephine chose not to break it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I've switched to doing three chapters from Josephine's POV. The next set will be three chapters from Trevelyan's POV and so on. I wanted to get a bit more in-depth into both of the characters.


	8. ADT 1/3

Val Royeaux, 9:30 Dragon, Summer:

Alex tried not to scowl as she took in the home of her new tutor. It was so… _bright_. Red paint glared boldly on the walls, the windows were trimmed with gold and on either side of the doors there were twin stone statues of small towers. The small keeps were carved with the de Nesle coat of arms. She frowned and peered closer…. why were there mini towers on the shield? Her mind whirred as she gazed at the image of a small tower that had been carved into the side of its’ larger counterpart. Her eyes widened after an embarrassing second and she groaned.

Josephine could never find out about this. Ever. The Antivan must already think that she’s an idiot, she didn’t need to add even more fuel to that fire.

She straightened and grumbled to herself as she walked towards the door. Still it wasn’t entirely her fault. I mean who does that? Alright. Fine. Practically every noble ever slapped their house symbols on any surface large enough but at least it wasn’t usually so, so _tacky_.  

Still frowning, she knocked on the door. She cursed herself again as she noticed the bell-pull. She tried her best to arrange her face into a more neutral look as she pulled the rope. The bells began to tinkle the opening notes of a tune. She was partway through rolling her eyes when the door was flung open by a masked man bedecked from head to toe in glittering armour. There wasn’t a single scratch or dent on the shimmering metal plate.

“Welcome Student to my humble home!” His arms were raised up as if he was about to start a house tour. Then he bowed low with a flourish of his hands. “I am Louis de Nesle, your humble tutor to be.” Trevelyan’s heart began to sink.

“It’s an honour to meet you Sir.” She swallowed her pride and bowed low in return.

“It’s ‘Your Grace’ actually.”

“Sir?” Alex was glad she hadn’t completely straightened back up; her confusion would have been obvious.

“The proper form of address for a Marquis is ‘Your Grace’ in Orlais,” he informed her in a condescending tone. His voice rankled and she ground her teeth as she stood up.

“Of course, Your Grace. I do apologise.” She tried to keep her face as blank as possible but she knew she hadn’t succeeded when his eyes narrowed like Josephine’s did whenever she inevitably made a mistake; it was a lot more irritating on the Marquis’ face though.

“Quite alright,” he tittered, “after all I wouldn’t expect you to know any better after your…upbringing.” He smiled widely at her, the bottom edge of his mask pushing up slightly, before turning on his heel and gliding back into the no-doubt tacky depths of his house. Alex glared at his back as she followed him inside.

“At least my house doesn’t have stupid useless towers outside it,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Just admiring your house, Your Grace,” she smiled at him innocently, “there’s nothing quite like it in the Free Marches.” The Marquis eyed her, his beady eyes glaring suspiciously. She kept smiling.

“Yes, well, I suppose there isn’t.” He sniffed before turning away. Trevelyan’s smile dropped. This was the man who was supposed to teach her? A tevinter templar would be more useful. She swallowed a sigh and fixed her eyes on his back; her glum face was reflected in his ridiculously shiny plate armour. She had to at least _try_ – she’d promised Grand-mère that she would and Lady Beaumont would know if she hadn’t. She always knew.

Still, well, at least he had the right equipment? He might not have ever actually used said equipment but at least he had to have been trained? She eyed him doubtfully from behind. He _was_ moving quite gracefully for a man in full plate. Though armour was meant to distribute weight – even she at a titchy thirteen years had been able to manage a set. She scowled. She had better reserve judgement then – both Josephine and her grandmother would be livid if she just walked out without actually seeing the man fight.

The Marquis led her to a grand pair of double doors that he flung open dramatically. She winced as sunlight spilled into the dark hallway. Alex blinked frantically, her eyes watering. Her sight cleared quickly and she restrained a groan at the sight in front of her.

“A marvel is it not?” The man in front of her preened.

“Uh, it’s certainly unique?” Alex could not tear her gaze away from the fountain that dominated the inner courtyard. “What exactly does it depict?” she asked weakly.

“Ah! It is a representation of the founding father of my house. You see he is dressed like a templar? He was no such thing but he discovered the infidelity of the queen et voila!” He flourished like a merchant showing off his wares.  

“So that’s a, I mean, that’s what a lust demon looks like then?” Trevelyan tried to draw her eyes away but wherever she looked on the fountain there were either breasts or… other things. The sword of the Marquis’ ancestor even looked like…. well, not like a sword. Trevelyan turned back to the Marquis. She frantically tried to remember Josephine’s lessons on flattery. There was something about never repeating a compliment?  

“There is a certain amount of artistic interpretation but yes! Or so Madame de Fer told me when she attended my last Soiree.”

“That’s, uh, unique,” she paused, remembering Josephine’s advice, “I mean, singular,” she corrected herself quickly. The Marquis, who had been eyeing her, immediately puffed up as he continued to praise his fountain.

“Yes, indeed! There’s nothing quite like it in all of Val Royeaux!”

“I’m sure of that Sir. I’ve never seen anything like it myself.” She swallowed. Had that been too much? She quickly glanced over at the Marquis who was continuing to praise the monstrosity in the middle of the courtyard. Oh, who was she kidding, she didn’t think anything would be too much for this man.

“…And yes, look at how the sword has been rendered in such detail why I -” She coughed, interrupting him. Immediately he turned to look down his nose at her.

“Um, your grace? I’m sure I’ll have uh ample time to uh take in your fountain but I don’t think, um, I don’t think one viewing would be enough to take it all in?” He sniffed and lost a little of his condescension.

“Ha, yes of course.” He gave her an empty smile.  “I know the impetuousness of youth, you must be eager to taste my blade!” She nodded and smothered a laugh that threatened to burst out of her. Taste his blade? That was like something out of the _Randy Dowager_. She caught sight of the fountain out of the corner of her eye and had to bite down on her lower lip. She struggled to keep her face from reacting but she knew she’d failed yet again when the Marquis started to glower at her.

“I’d love to, your Grace.” She replied, her voice half-strangled. Oh Maker, don’t let her laugh!

“Follow me,” De Nesle ordered in an icy voice. He turned on his heel, a move that would have been more dramatic if he hadn’t been in armour, and started to stalk around the fountain. Trevelyan hurried to follow him. Every time she caught sight of the fountain she had to smother another snort. Just as they were starting to turn away, a single giggle escaped and the Marquis immediately whirled on her.

“Sorry your Grace. I, uh,” she faked a cough and whacked her chest with her hand, “I have something stuck in my throat.” Louis de Nesle glared at her from behind his mask and his thin lips were pressed together. She immediately coughed again. The second cough was a lot weaker than the first.

“As a Marquis I am a very important man,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “as such I will not be able to tutor you all the time, so I have brought in an old student of mine to act in my stead.” Trevelyan’s good humour died a sudden death. The Marquis smiled viciously. “Of course, should my student deem you unteachable then I’m afraid that we will have to part ways.” His voice lowered and he leaned in towards her. “My word is quite powerful among certain, shall we say, _martial_ circles.” He stepped away and nodded once in satisfaction. Trevelyan had no doubt that he had seen her sudden horror.

“Understood, your Grace.” She swallowed and bowed again to him. When she rose up again, the Marquis looked viciously smug, like a cat with a canary struggling in its mouth. Her fists clenched at her sides. De Nesle turned again and started to saunter towards another archway beyond the fountain. From behind him she could see another courtyard beyond; though that one seemed to be free of fountains thankfully.

She followed him, eyes staring at the ground and her hands aching with the force of her clenched fists. Alex looked upwards and glared at the pink back of the Marquis’ neck. She swallowed, trying to clear the bitter taste in her mouth. She had bowed to this man? This petty, useless man so filled with his own self-inflated ego that he ruined lives because of a single laugh? Her eyes began to water and she blinked furiously. She wanted to…she didn’t know what she wanted. And wasn’t that her whole bloody problem? Trevelyan huffed and her tension drained away.

The Marquis was definitely a bit of a bastard. He was a bearable one though, for now at the very least.

A flash of red caught her eye and her gaze twitched towards the man waiting for them in the second courtyard. He was young, probably her age, and wearing a red livery. A full mask covered his face and she frowned as she looked at him. He looked…why did he look familiar? She tried to hide her frown as she moved closer.

“Ah Tristan, my old student! Here is the Free Marcher I was telling you about!” The Marquis boomed. Trevelyan’s previous horror started to trickle back. Tristan? It couldn’t be _that_ Tristan, right? Surely it wasn’t. Except…the red livery, she’d seen it before, hadn’t she? At the University ball when she’d danced with Josephine, he’d been watching them. Oh, Maker’s balls. It was him! What should she do? _Josephine hasn’t covered social ambushes yet_ , she thought half-hysterically. Alright, _alright_. She could do this. She just had to be calm, collected! She could totally do this. Tristan Abélard strode towards them and she tried to repress the urge to flee. When the Orlesian stopped in front of them after what felt like an eternity, he bowed low to her.

“Enchantée Mademoiselle Trevelyan.” He rose his head and locked eyes with her as he spoke with a voice deep and rich with promise. Alex suppressed a shudder.

“Charmed, Ser…?”

“Ah forgive me my student.” The Marquis interrupted, his chest puffing with pride. “Tristan Abélard is one of my most promising graduates and an excellent tutor in the fine art of the blade!”

“Tutor?” Alex asked sharply. So that’s how they were going to do it. Her eyes remained fixed on Abélard as he rose. Were his eyes narrowed? Trevelyan truly couldn’t tell and she had to restrain a grimace. Bloody Orlesians’ and their bloody masks.

“Ah, my time as a Marquis is filled with social engagements so Monsieur Abélard has agreed to step in from time to time.” De Nesle waved a hand carelessly in the direction of his former student. Alex’s hands clenched into fists and she frowned. Their strategy was simple but effective, all Abelard had to do was spend some time alone with her without the Marquis chaperoning and then he could try to _attain_ her. She had to do…something! Anything! Panic, fear and anger coursed through her as Tristan stepped forwards. He was about to speak, to close the jaws of the trap around her. Alex moved away from him and turned to face the Marquis directly; Abélard stiffened in the corner of her vision. Good. She hoped he was insulted by the dismissal.

“Sir, I was under the impression that an apprenticeship with you would be one of your top engagements.” She could see Louis de Nesle stiffen in surprise and she almost laughed. She might not know much about social ambushes but with military ones, you had to try and turn it against your enemy. They were not going to entrap her, not like this.

“Your Grace!” The Marquis practically hissed through a fixed smile. “And whatever do you mean, my dear girl?”  

“I mean that you fobbing me off on Tristan here is a bit of a recent development.” Both Orlesians’ seemed taken aback by the direct confrontation. Good. She had to keep them on their back foot.  

“I…what in Thedas are you suggesting?” De Nesle sputtered, drawing himself up to his full height.

“What exactly did the Abélards’ offer you to sell me up the river? Money? Status?” The Marquis flinched. She had him! She smiled coldly, going in for the killing stroke. “Maybe invitations to all those social engagements you’ll be attending?” The Marquis reeled back and Abélard quickly moved to stand by his side.

“My lady, I don’t know what you think is going on here but I can assure you–” His voice was so smooth it was practically oily. A wild, daring plan popped up and she smirked. Alex moved forwards and lightly smacked his cheek with the back of her hand. Half-remembered ceremonies sprung to her lips as she stated,

“Tristan Abélard, I accuse you of knowingly plotting to dirty my name and the name of my house by means of false rumours of impropriety. Marquis Louis de Nesle, I accuse you of knowingly aiding Tristan Abélard in this polluting endeavour. I accuse you and I will have satisfaction.” Her voice rang through the courtyard and everything fell silent. Abélard was struck dumb by shock and the Marquis was little better. Alex gave them till the count of three before speaking again. “Will my challenge be met or am I to go forth from this place unsatisfied?” She started to move away as if to leave entirely when de Nesle hurriedly shook himself.

“Your challenge is heard, Lady Trevelyan. I name Tristan Abélard as my champion in this endeavour.” Well the Marquis knew his duelling etiquette. That was a point in the man’s favour.

“Your champion is acknowledged.” She nodded to the Marquis. “As the accused you have the right to choose both the time and place of our challenge, do you choose to exercise this right?” The Marquis’ eyes narrowed and a nasty smirk crossed his face. Before Tristan could even open his mouth to reply, De Nesle snarled,

“Today, noon in the Place d’Aveline.” Trevelyan felt as taken aback as Tristan looked. “Unless such a time is inconvenient for you my lady?” Oh, so he was trying to get her to forfeit. Hah! Good bloody luck to him!

“It’s no trouble at all your grace. Will you also procure a physician?” Alex smiled sweetly and had to restrain a laugh at the Marquis’ answering glare.

“I shall,” De Nesle replied, looking like he’d bitten down on a lemon. Trevelyan turned to Abélard then, who looked faintly panicked.

“What shall be our arms?”

“The rapier, my Lady.” Tristan answered. He seemed to have moved from panicked to dazed. Alex felt a stab of pity for him but she quickly stamped it down. He’d started this so she had to end it decisively, publicly and on her terms; she’d never be able to compete with him in the Game even if she had years of training.

“Just so. Shall the public be our witness?”

“They shall, Lady Trevelyan.” Abélard bowed to her and she bowed in return. The challenge had been completed and answered. Alex turned on her heel and began to stride out the way she came. There was a hurried clanking sound and the Marquis quickly drew level with her. He didn’t speak as he guided her through the house and to the front door. At the threshold he paused and Alex stopped on his front path, turning back to look at him framed by his ridiculous red doorway.

“Noon is in but an hour Trevelyan,” he said.

“Oh, I know!” She smiled a wide, insincere grin at him. “See you in an hour!” She waved cheerfully before turning and walking out into the street. The door shut behind her and Alex strode away. A potent mix of determination and wrath carried her almost all the way back to the Beaumont townhouse before her actions fully set in.

Josephine was actually going to murder her.

Grand-mère would most probably help.

“Well, shit,” she cursed in the middle of the street. A couple of young woman passing her snapped out their fans to cover their faces almost immediately. She could hear them giggling behind her. Her visions of a painful and slow death faded and she shook her head. Right. Right. This idea wasn’t her best but it was a bit late now to stop things. Besides the Marquis and Tristan were just as unprepared as she was since the Marquis’ bluff had backfired on him. So she’d better go through with it and she’d better win. Alex’s stride faltered and a sudden horrible thought struck her. What if she lost? Honour duels weren’t to first blood. Tristan Abélard could legally murder her today without repercussion. “Oh fuck.” This time an elderly gentleman harrumphed at her exclamation. She quickly bowed in apology to him before speeding up. Streets passed by quickly and pedestrians almost jumped out of her way. Her newfound speed took her all the way up the steps and to the door of the Beaumont townhouse. She hammered on the door. A servant opened it and she pushed past him. “Sorry!” she yelled behind her.

Alex was vaguely aware of a gathering of women moving in and out of her grandmother’s salon as she ran up the steps to the second floor. She sprinted along the landing before bursting into her room. A maid shrieked in surprise. Alex headed straight towards her weapons rack and grabbed her rapier. It wasn’t her best weapon but at least Abélard hadn’t chosen crossbows; that could’ve gotten messy.

She unsheathed her blade and quickly checked it for nicks before plunging the sword back into its’ scabbard. She attached the sheathe to her belt, grabbed a pair of light bracers and strode back out onto the landing. She hopped down the stairs, two at a time. Her left bracer was clenched in between her teeth as she tugged on the right. She hit the bottom of the stairs when a loud cough sounded from behind her. Alex turned to see a pack of Orlesian women watching her like a flock of vultures. Her grandmother held court in the middle of the group. Trevelyan spat out the second bracer and fumbled as she caught it.

“Ma chérie, would you care to explain why you have abandoned all rules of propriety today?” Lady Beaumont’s voice was as dry as the Western Approach.

“I, um, I–” Alex stuttered as she tried to come up with a reasonable explanation that wouldn’t involve explaining exactly what she was up to. The Orlesian women seemed to sense her fear as they fanned out around her grandmother.

“Yes, Alexandra you?” Lady Beaumont prompted, gesturing her hands as if she was a conductor leading an especially stupid orchestra. Alex dithered before dashing forwards and kissing her grandmother on the cheek.

“I challenged the Marquis de Nesle and Tristan Abélard to an honour duel which will take place at noon today in the Place d’Aveline.” A gasp made its’ way through the watching crowd and Alex hastily stepped away from her grandmother as she saw her words sink in.

“What?” asked the Lady Beaumont. If the Orlesian had been a lesser player of the game, Trevelyan would have said she looked taken aback. As it was, her grandmother seemed a little ruffled. 

“I love you, please tell J…, uh I mean my tutor that this wasn’t their fault if I do die. I’ll be back for dinner, hopefully!” Her grandmother took a step forward and Alex scuttled backwards. “Will you look at the time? I’d better get going!” She smiled widely but her grandmother was not appeased as she took another, slightly more menacing step towards Alex.

“Alexandra Dorea Trevelyan, if you do not explain yourself–”

“Sorry! Bye! Love you!” Trevelyan decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valour and bolted for the door. She burst out of the townhouse and sprinted away. She hurriedly pulled on her left bracer as she ran. Luckily, she knew where she was going.

The Place d’Aveline was an empty, tree-ringed square right outside the Chevalier headquarters in the city. It was mainly used for ceremonial events where all the chevaliers gathered in rank and file so it had an even floor and minimal decoration that could obstruct a duel. The barracks were not too far from the University and she’d often passed through the square. The university infirmary for student doctors to practice their craft on the needy was also just down the road.

Alex started to breathe heavily. She huffed and slowed herself down. She really needed to start up her stamina routines again. Well, if she survived today, she vowed to the Maker to start running laps again. She hurried through the familiar streets until she came to the Place d’Aveline.

People were moving sluggishly in the square and as she pushed forward, she saw why. The Marquis, Abélard, a sister of the Chantry with two templars in attendance and a doctor all stood together in the centre of the square. The Marquis had brought with him a banner that had his coat-of-arms emblazoned upon it. The standard had been firmly stuck into the ground and a wide space had formed around it; it was the width of the usual twenty paces that was customary for duels. Alex moved through the crowd and into the open space. Interest flitted through the spectators in the form of a murmur that sped through the crowd. The Marquis noticed her instantly. She strode towards the group awaiting her and came to a stop in front of them. The chantry woman wore the robes of a Revered Mother and Alexandra instantly bowed to her in respect.

“Good day to you, Revered Mother,” she greeted the chantry member first; her father would have her hide if she did anything less. The woman seemed to falter at the instantaneous show of respect. Clearly the Marquis had already been talking about her. 

“And to you, my child. I am here as the hand of the Chantry in order to foster reconciliation between the children of the Maker. Do you deny that you issued this challenge daughter?”

“I do not deny it Revered Mother.” The Marquis puffed up behind the Chantry sister and Alex narrowed her eyes at him. “I swear to the Maker that I believe this challenge to be virtuous and true. I shall carry myself with honour as I fight beneath his gaze.” The Revered Mother’s serenity faltered as she spoke the old oath and the older woman seemed curious.

“What is your name child and from where do you come?”

“I am Alexandra Trevelyan of Ostwick, fourth born to Bann Trevelyan, Mother.” Alex noted the instant the Chantry mother recognised the name. The two templars next to her shuffled slightly as well. Did they serve underneath one of her relatives?

“Your family has long sung the Chant of Light daughter.” The Revered Mother’s voice was warm and Trevelyan smiled in reply. The Marquis looked confused. Alex had to stop herself from smirking at him. The Trevelyan’s weren’t overly important in Orlesian society but when it came to the Chantry, her pedigree was beyond reproach; there were about fifty active members of the Trevelyan brood in the Chantry, both Templars and Sisters, and none of them were low-ranked.     

“We have, Mother. The Chant of light binds us together.” Alex kept smiling pleasantly and de Nesle snarled.

“She is the challenger Revered Mother! She would break the Maker’s peace today!” The templars bristled at his tone. The doctor edged away from the Marquis as the Mother sent a quelling glare at the noble.

“I would hear from Lady Trevelyan herself my son.” The Revered Mother turned a much more pleasant gaze on Alex. “What is the charge you base your duel today on?”

“I accuse Tristan Abélard and Marquis de Nesle of knowingly conspiring to pollute my name with rumours of sexual misconduct. They accepted the challenge one hour ago and did not dispute the charges at the time.” Trevelyan’s voice rang out in the square and whispers raced through the crowd. The Revered Mother turned to frown at the two nobles.

“You did not deny it?”

“We were surprised, shocked by her…her brazen insinuations!” The Marquis sputtered.

“I gave them the waiting time to answer my challenge as is customary. They put forth no defence and the Marquis quickly chose Tristan Abélard as his champion.” Alex piped up. The Marquis sent her a truly filthy glare.

“Then it seems my children that the burden of reconciliation lies with you.” The Revered Mother turned to Abélard and the Marquis as she spoke. De Nesle seemed about to speak again and dig his grave even deeper when Tristan stepped forwards.

“Then the challenge must be answered.” His voice was steady and did not tremble. The Chantry Mother frowned at him but she nodded.

“I will stay to oversee the duel and see that both participants fight with honour. Come doctor, we must stand aside.” With that, the non-combatants moved to the edge of the duelling square. The Marquis watched them go. Trevelyan kept her gaze fixed on Abélard.

“Your Grace, would you please start us off?” Tristan asked politely though even Alex could hear the edge in his words. De Nesle nodded hurriedly and stepped forwards.

“The charges have been laid and the accused has agreed to meet the challenger with steel. Duellists, present your weapons!” Both Tristan and Alex unsheathed their rapiers and held them out at arm’s length. The Marquis checked them both, lingering on Trevelyan’s before nodding. They sheathed their weapons. “The arms are as agreed upon. Challenger, do you recant your accusation?”

“No, I do not.” Alex spoke, still gazing intently at Tristan.

“Accused do you still deny the charge?”

“I do.” Tristan held her gaze firmly.

“Duellists, as this an honour duel it can only be ended in three ways: yielding, incapacitation or death.” The Marquis’ voice broke on the final option and he swallowed. “Do you understand?”

“I wish to exercise my right as the accused and rescind the right of yielding,” answered Abélard. He didn’t look away from Alex as he spoke. She clenched her jaw and nodded. Well now she had to beat the little bastard.  

“Then this duel is to incapacitation or death. Duellists move to the centre of the area!” The Marquis commanded. Tristan and Alex walked side by side into the middle of the duelling square. “Backs to each other!” They turned and shuffled into position. Alex could feel Tristan’s shoulder blades moving against her back as he breathed. “Twenty paces, begin!” Trevelyan carefully measure out her paces as she stepped in time to the Marquis’ count. The twentieth pace took her to the edge of the duelling arena. The crowd watched her hungrily, waiting for her to falter. “Turn!” The Marquis yelled and Alex turned on her heel. The back of her neck prickled under a thousand expectant eyes. Tristan stood across from her. He had yet to remove his mask; she was going to enjoy taking it from him. The Marquis moved to the edge of the duelling square and stood just in front of the Revered Mother and her entourage. “For the final time, do you deny to lay down your arms?”

“I do deny it,” yelled Alex.

“As do I!” Tristan shouted.

“Very well. May the Maker have mercy on your souls. Unsheathe your weapons!” Twin metallic scrapes answered him. The Marquis stepped back until he was in line with the non-combatants. “Begin!”

Trevelyan moved forwards immediately and away from the crowd. They didn’t need to get caught up in this. Abélard mirrored her and they ended up circling each other in the centre. They must have looked like twin birds of prey, hovering and waiting for their moment to strike.

His eyes narrowed at her behind his mask and she leapt forwards.

His blade met hers. The sound rang in the silence.

She twisted her rapier and batted his sword aside. He staggered back.

Alex darted forwards and slammed the butt of her hilt against his mask. The crowd gasped. He waved his blade wildly. She ducked to avoid it, rolled back and crouched.

His hands clawed at his mask and he ripped it off, throwing it to the ground. The cracked white mask was quickly dulled by the dirt. Tristan glared at her and she could see that his nose was bleeding already.

“If you’re the Marquis’ best student, I’d hate to see his worse!” She jeered. Abélard glared in reply and they circled each other again. He charged suddenly. His blade moved in a blur and Trevelyan huffed. She batted aside stroke after stroke. They seemed to come faster and faster. Then a burst of pain struck her upper left arm as he raked his rapier down. She winced as her flesh tore.

“And if you’re the best Ostwick has to offer, the Free Marches are certainly living up to their reputation!” They locked blades and Alex grinned toothily in his face before head-butting him. He reeled backwards. The crowd started to yell. Tristan smirked at her, his teeth bloodied. “Maybe you just need someone to tame you!”

“As if you’d be up for the challenge,” she answered drily. The spectators laughed and she saw a dark shadow cross Abélards face. He glared at her then pressed forwards again. Each strike came fast and furious. Trevelyan danced around him and tried not to fall beneath the battering. Every time she met his sword, his glare became darker and his eyes wilder. The crowd started to heckle him and he snarled wordlessly. Right, time for her to dig the knife in. “Did I hit a sore spot there Abélard? You know performance issues are actually quite common,” she mocked. More laughter spread in the crowd. Tristan growled and raised his sword for another strike. Alex slipped beneath his guard and sliced across his ribs. The pain washed away his anger like a flash flood and he immediately leapt away from her. This time, Alex followed him. She started to strike blow after blow. He tripped backwards, scrambling away. He tried to regain his rhythm but Alex kept pressing him. A lucky hit made a glancing blow against his hands and he almost dropped his weapon. He fumbled for a moment and that was all Alex needed. She sliced the back of his hand with her blade. His fingers opened on reflex and dropped his rapier. His eyes turned wide and horrified. He staggered back, breathing heavily. He tripped over his own feet and fell hard onto his back. Alex moved forward quickly till she stood over him. Her shadow covered his face.

“No! Please!” He gasped. A silence fell among the spectators. His chest was wide open. Alex could easily slip her rapier in between his ribs now or maybe spear his kidney, she could even tear into his stomach. She swallowed and ignored the many openings. His gaze was locked on her as she brought her arm down to slam the rapier’s hilt against his forehead. His eyes rolled back into his head and he lay still on the floor. His slack face made him look so young. She sighed and turned away.

“Marquis de Nesle, your champion is incapacitated. The duel is won. Do you accept the result?”

“I do Lady Trevelyan. Is your honour satisfied?” De Nesle called from the side-lines.

“It is, Sir.”

“Let us go in peace!”

“Indeed Sir. Let us go in peace.” As she spoke the customary parting words, the doctor rushed forward to attend to Tristan. Alex stepped out of his way and nodded to the approaching Revered Mother. She sheathed her sword as the Chantry sister moved closer. The templars bristling either side of her seemed to calm.

“You acted with mercy today, daughter. You have kept your oath to the Maker and I am satisfied with your conduct. I believe your relatives will be pleased by your actions.” The Revered Mother smiled with a hint of good humour. Alex paled but bowed again. The greatest downside to being a member of a Chantry pedigree was the gossip network. Her Father would probably be hearing about this duel by sundown.

“I thank you for your good report, Mother.” Alex was thankful, she really was! But, oh Maker, her father might also want to murder her by nightfall.

“Walk in the Maker’s light daughter.” The Revered Mother was definitely smiling. Trevelyan nodded in reply before turning and leaving the square. Orlesians pressed in on either side, congratulating her on her victory. Their words mingled into an unrecognisable uproar. She kept a smile plastered on her face and shouted out thanks as she moved through the crowd. Relief swept through her as she escaped the square with its’ clinging crowd and slid into a side alley. She breathed in deeply and held it for the count of five before breathing out. She repeated the pattern again and felt her racing heart begin to settle down.

Suddenly, the idea of going home was even less appealing than it had been before the duel. A furious Lady Beaumont, a murderous Josephine and the knowledge that her Father would soon be sending a Trevelyan to yell at her about family honour were not happy thoughts.

Right. Right.

It was time to go find the pub.


	9. ADT 2/3

** Val Royeaux, Lower Tier **

Alex looked up in satisfaction at the swinging pub sign that showed a hatchet buried deep in a tree stump. ‘La Hache Enfouie’ was exactly the kind of pub she was looking for. She grinned as two men came bursting out of the doors and started to wrestle in the mud. This definitely reminded her of Ostwick. She circled around the mass of flailing limbs and pushed open the doors that were half-hanging from their hinges. The inside was dim and dark. Heavy wooden beams lined the ceiling and giant barrels of beer, taller than a Qunari and as wide as a cart, were lined up against the wall behind the bar. Wood smoke lay thick in the air and the dirty windows barely let in light. Sconces with thick candles lined the walls and various pillars; she could see rivers of old melted wax below each one. There were booths lining the walls and odd tables scattered about. Each piece of furniture was large and heavy. Nothing was broken but every table had at least one gouge and some chairs were missing their backs. A few groaning bodies littered the floor and several people were downing pints at the bar.

She grinned to herself and strode over to the surly bartender; a white-haired man that looked like nothing could ever surprise him. Another man, blonde and dressed in finery, was slumped in front of the barman. He was half falling off a stool but the bartender didn’t even spare him a glance as he cleaned a wooden stein with a dirty rag.

“Pint of ale please,” she murmured, careful to keep her voice low. She didn’t want to attract the attention of the brawlers at the other end while their blood ran hot. The barman grunted again and dropped his rag on the counter. He turned, filled the stein from one of the huge barrels against the wall before returning to the counter and slamming it down. The slumped man jerked upright and blinked sleepily.

“Wha’time is it?” he slurred, swaying in his seat.

“Just past noon.” He let out a heartfelt groan, collapsing back onto the counter, and she snorted. Alex placed a handful of pennies down on the countertop in front of the barman. “Another one for him as well, he sounds like he needs it.” Another groan answered her and she bit back a laugh. The bartender’s lips didn’t so much as twitch as he scraped her money into the front of his canvas apron. A second stein was slammed down onto the counter in short order and the drunk levered himself up to take his drink. He was practically drowning himself in his mug. She snorted again before taking a long pull of her own ale. It was strong and bitter, nothing like the weak pale ales the Orlesians’ drank when they ran out of wine.

“Thanks,” muttered her new drinking partner. He started to fumble in his jacket, he yanked several times before pulling out a full money pouch. The drunk slumped back against the counter and shoved the pouch in her direction. She picked it up and her eyes widened at the weight. It felt like it was filled with gold coins. Alex hurriedly pushed it back at the man before anybody saw it out.

“Er, don’t worry about it. You can buy me a drink next time, yeah?”

“S’alright,” he murmured, pushing the pouch back. She was about to try to convince him again when the doors to the bar were slammed open; one door fell off its hinges and landed with a solid thump. She jumped and turned around to see the burliest man she’d ever seen. He was dressed in leather armour and a thick scar ran down the left side of his face, neatly bisecting an empty eye socket. He had also brought with him some friends that were equally muscled. Alex swallowed.

“CARLOMAN!” The man shouted. “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?” The drunk levered himself upright and twisted in his seat to face the men by the door. Alexandra almost groaned. Of course. Of bloody course.

“Afternoon Guillaume,” Carloman said, his voice still slurring. He held up his drink to them in a mock toast. She could practically see the vein bulging in Guillaume’s (?) forehead before he roared and charged across the room, slamming Carloman into the counter; his wooden mug clattered as it hit the floor and beer spilt everywhere. Trevelyan stood very still, hardly daring to breathe. Her rapier was hanging by her side but she didn’t make to unsheathe it; drawing a rapier in this type of fight would only bring death.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You told the guards about my cargo? That deal took months to set up with the Vints,” he shook Carloman roughly, “months wasted! And all that gold gone!” He snarled and shook the swiftly paling man again. “You owe me that money and I’m going to get it if I have to pry it from your cold dead fingers!” The drunk swallowed and pulled himself upright. Guillaume was shoved backwards. Carloman sat, wavering only slightly and, emphasising his every word, said,

“People. Aren’t. Cargo.” Then he leaned forward and vomited noisily over both himself and Guillaume. The slaver barely had time to yell out in disgust when Alex’s fist caught the side of his head and sent him stumbling away from Carloman. The drunk turned to look at her in surprise and she shrugged, moving to stand in front of him.

“I’ve already fought one honour duel today, what’s one more?” Carloman laughed behind her as she launched herself at Guillaume who was staggering upright. The slaver was bigger, taller and stronger than she was so she had to get him down quickly. Her tackle overbalanced him again and she ended up on top of him as she punched him in the face. Alex got a few good hits in before a set of large meaty hands dragged her off him. A boot slammed into her stomach and she gasped for air. A hand tried to grab her rapier but she twisted in the iron grip of the man holding her and kicked out. Her foot connected with something soft and squishy and there was an anguished howl. The hand dropped away from her rapier and she breathed a little more deeply. Her head was wrenched back as a fist slammed into her eye. She blinked madly but she managed to twist an arm free and scrape her nails down one of the thug’s face. Her other arm was dropped as the man instinctively tried to protect his eye. Alex skittered away and quickly rolled to her feet. The two thugs helped Guillaume to his feet and she swallowed. Her side felt bruised, her hands were twinging with pain and she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her eye open. The odds were not in her favour. One of the thugs pulled out a knife and she moved back.  

“You lot, this purse is yours if you help!” Carloman shouted suddenly. She heard the clinking of coins as he emptied out his money purse on the counter. She could see the group of brawlers who had been drinking at the other end of the bar pause for a moment. Then, as one, they dropped their ales and charged; hurdling over the tables and sending chairs flying. One chair was thrown straight into Guillaume’s face. The brawlers descended on the three thugs like a tidal wave. A hand gripped her elbow and Alex flinched. Carloman was standing behind her.

“Come on, I know a way out,” he murmured. She nodded and he let go of her arm. He rounded the bar and dropped behind the counter. The bartender rolled his eyes but moved to the side. There was an odd scraping sound, like something heavy had been moved. She frowned and followed him around the edge of the counter, quickly ducking to hide behind the bar. Her eyes widened as soon as she caught sight of the trapdoor. Carloman fumbled with it, almost dropping it, but she quickly grabbed the edge. They gently opened the door and rested it against a barrel hidden beneath the bar with barely a whisper of sound. Alex could just see the edge of a ladder as Carloman half-fell, half-climbed down into the hidden room. She watched his blonde head disappear and hesitated for a moment. Then there was a crash of broken glass from behind her and she shook her head. Alex sighed and followed her drinking partner down into the hidden room.

It was dimly lit and it became even darker when the trapdoor above was closed. She heard the scraping sound again from above and swallowed. No going back now. She turned away from the ladder and peered into the gloom. Her drinking partner was trying to light a glass lantern with a taper but his hands shook too much for the candle to catch alight. She rolled her eyes.

“Here let me get that,” she murmured. He shoved the lit taper into her face and her head jerked back.

“Oh. Sorry,” he hiccupped and leaned backwards. She carefully plucked the taper from his limp grasp and lit the lantern before blowing the taper out.

“Don’t worry about it. Uh, are we staying down here or is there another way out?”

“Ah,” his face turned serious and he paused, paling dramatically. She almost groaned. Please dear Maker don’t let her be stuck in a small room with a vomiting drunk. Carloman swayed on the spot and she took a hurried step back. He swallowed and shook his head. Then he stepped back and revealed a door that had been hidden behind him. “How do you feel about sewers?”

“Um. They’re an important part of the infrastructure and definitely helped cut down on disease before medicine improved?” Carloman blinked slowly then peered at her.

“History student then?”

“Yes?” She replied hesitantly. Her drinking partner snorted but he softened it with a smile.

“Well then, _ma petite historienne_ , you’re about to get a private tour.” He cheerfully turned away and, after fumbling a bit with the door, shoved it open. The odour of the sewer hit them and Trevelyan gagged. He waved a hand in front of him and, eyes watering, Alex picked up the lantern and walked through the door. She slammed a hand over her nose and breathed through her mouth. Oh Maker, she took it all back, she wanted the vomiting drunk instead.

“You get used to the smell,” Carloman informed her merrily.

“Why would you come down here enough to find that out?” She asked, gasping.

“Hah! Well, it’s a handy escape route. Especially from the bards, they don’t like to come down here.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she replied, blinking rapidly to clear the water from her eyes. Her bruised eye twinged and she held back a wince.

“Oh, the smell is… _dissuasif_?” He frowned and snapped his fingers before his face cleared suddenly. “Deterrent! Yes, a deterrent but mostly it’s because bards are _très dramatique_ and prefer to, oh I don’t know, backflip off rooves and the like. They wouldn’t be caught dead in a sewer, it’s bad for their image.” Trevelyan snorted and straightened as that blighted smell finally started to fade.

“I’ll remember that for if I’m ever running away from a bard.”

“Or perhaps a duellist, no?” Carloman asked, his eyes flicking to her sheathed blade. He waved her over to the left and she started to pick her way carefully along the walkway next to the sewer canal. Her wounded arm started to burn a little so she switched the lantern over to her other hand.

“Maybe. It was sort of a one off,” she huffed, shuffling carefully along and testing each spot before she put her foot down.

“Ah, a duel fought beneath the glaring sun. A young student facing a dastardly foe. A daring fight for honour and glory. Hmmm, are you sure you’re not a bard yourself?” Carloman chortled behind her.

“Hah, no! I’d be a terrible bard, uh, Carloman right?”

“ _Oui_ , I am Carloman. Carloman Capet at your service.”

“Trevelyan. Alexandra Trevelyan. Are you from Nevarra then?”

“Hah! Good ear! _Non, ma mère_ was Nevarran. Oh, straight ahead here,” he ordered when they reached a crossroads in the sewer. Alex carefully stepped across then turned back and helped Carloman cross. He wobbled and almost fell but she managed to grab him and pull him to safety just in time. “My thanks! And yourself? I’m guessing you’re from the Free Marches?”

“Yes, Ostwick is my home. I came to study at the University and I’m staying with family.”

“Who? Perhaps I’ve heard of them?” Carloman asked. Trevelyan hesitated before huffing quietly. He already knew a lot about her, keeping her grandmother’s family name out of it would be like trying to stopper a dam with a sponge.

“The Beaumonts’? My grandmother is Lady Alexandrie Beaumont—” Carloman interrupted her with a loud laugh.

“Oh, that old battle-axe! I think everybody in Val Royeaux knows of her.”

“I would not be surprised,” she said drily. “How much further are we going? I’d like to be able to wash out the sewer smell within the next month.”

“There is a ladder just after another two junctions. That should take us far enough away from Guillaume le bâtard, no?”

“With a name like that, should I be worried about revenge?” Alex asked, half joking, and Carloman laughed behind her.

“Ah, William the Bastard is more a description of his birth though it does fit his personality. Besides he’ll have to flee Val Royeaux before the guards come for him.” Alex hopped across another junction and turned back to help Capet cross again.

“His noble parent won’t try to get him off then?” She asked curiously.

“Oh, they can certainly try but the noble who pushed for his imprisonment is far higher up the ladder.”

“Is that your master then?” Alex knew she should probably restrain her curiosity but she’d had very few frank conversation partners since arriving in Orlais. Carloman didn’t answer for a few moments and she hurriedly said, “I mean, he blamed you for tipping the guards off but you say that a high up noble is pushing for his capture?”

“Ah…yes. You, uh, surprised me but yes my master is the one putting pressure on the city watch.” Capet’s voice was hesitant and Trevelyan frowned into the gloom.

“Will he be mad at you for getting drunk? I could come vouch that I forced you into it if you need me to?”

“Why would you do that? I was the one who involved you in the fight.” Carloman seemed curious and she couldn’t blame him.

“You got into a fight for doing the right thing and you saved me when you could have just left me,” she said quietly. “Besides after today, I’m probably going to be shipped off back to Ostwick so it’s not like it’ll be an unbelievable excuse.”

“Why? An honour duel is not a banishable offense.”

“I think it might be for the Lady Beaumont, especially since I went and found a pub instead of going home after.”

“Ah, _oui, oui_ ,” Carloman hesitated before continuing, “perhaps my master could intervene on your behalf?”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you Monsieur Capet but I don’t want to get you into any trouble on my behalf,” Alex demurred. She flashed a grateful smile at the man over her shoulder. Trevelyan then quickly jumped over the second junction. She helped Carloman cross the final gap before holding up the lantern. A metal ladder glinted in the flickering candlelight. “Is this the ladder Monsieur?”

“It is indeed! Well-spotted my lady.”

“Right. You go up first and I’ll, uh…break your fall if you slip?” Trevelyan shuffled backwards as Capet laughed. The Orlesian then began to climb the ladder carefully. She moved to stand below him but held up the lantern as high as she could. There was a grating sound and some bits of dust and dirt began to fall. Alex ducked her head and shielded her eyes. Suddenly light streamed down from above and she began to blink rapidly. Carloman’s legs disappeared from her field of vision and, eyes watering, she followed him up the ladder. A hand grabbed the lantern from her and she hauled herself two-handed out of the sewer. The grate had let them out into a small alleyway and they were hidden by some wooden crates. Alex blew out the lantern and placed it carefully onto one of the crates as Capet quickly closed the grate again. It fell into place with a metallic clang. Carloman stumbled upright and managed to prop himself up against a wall. Trevelyan hesitated before sighing and holding out her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you get home.”

“Ah, my lady, you are a true chevalier!” Capet said with a smile before draping his arm across her shoulders and leaning into her side. Alex rolled her eyes but held him around the waist with one arm.

“Alright, where am I taking you then? Upper tier, I presume?”

“Oui, oui ! Allons-y !” He waved a hand in the direction of the mouth of the alleyway and Trevelyan laughed.

They made slow progress the pair of them, ambling along like they’d just come from a feast day. They drew more than their fair share of looks, especially as they rose up through the tiers of the city and started to mix with more and more nobles. A lot of these looks almost seemed like they were being directed at Carloman but Alex dismissed the thought as quickly as it had appeared. Why would the Royan nobles be looking at a steward? He hadn’t even vomited since the bar. She’d just propped him up at a water fountain and was making him drink when she heard her name being called from afar.

“Lady Trevelyan! Lady Trevelyan!” Her shoulders tensed and she briefly considered legging it. Capet almost drowned himself in the fountain and she sighed, pulling him out by his shoulders. Alright, no daring escapes today then. She turned in the direction of the voice, keeping a steadying hand on Capet, and winced when she saw it was one of her grandmother’s servants. The servant practically sprinted towards her and he was breathing heavily when he reached her. “Your, your,” he gasped and she handed him a ladle from the fountain. He gulped down the water and continued to speak, his words tripping over each other in their haste, “my lady Beaumont wishes for you to return to the house at once my lady!”

“I, I mean, I’ve got to help this fellow get home—”

“At once, my lady!” The servant gasped again. Trevelyan cursed and quickly pulled out her coin purse before shoving it at the vaguely familiar servant.

“Alright, Pierre was it?” The servant nodded frantically. “Right, Pierre please help this gentleman home in my stead and I’ll head back to the house.” Pierre tried to hand back the purse. “No, consider it payment. I’ll make sure to tell Grand-mère that you are the one who found me alright and that I wouldn’t come home unless you did this.” Pierre, still gasping, nodded. Trevelyan turned back to Capet and knelt so she could make eye contact with him.

“Hey, Carloman, my friend here is going to help you home. My offer from earlier still stands, remember?”

“Ah, oui, je me souviens,” replied Capet. Trevelyan laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. I’d better get going.” With that, she turned and began to sprint in the direction of the Beaumont townhouse. She ignored the looks she was getting and focused on not tripping. She was already banged up enough, she didn’t need any new scrapes for her grandmother to lambast her over. Streets blurred and soon she was staggering up the steps to the townhouse. The door was flung open as she arrived by a wide-eyed servant.

“She’s in her salon, my lady and wants to see you at once!” Trevelyan nodded and, breathing heavily, she straightened up and walked slowly towards the salon at the back of the main hall. Every step felt weighted and she sighed as she entered through the salon doors. Lady Beaumont was sitting upright and still in the middle of her divan; she was not wearing a mask. Alex was reminded quite clearly of a snake waiting to strike.

“Where have you been?” Her grandmother asked and Trevelyan winced. “Actually no, do not tell me now. If you do, I might strangle you myself.” Lady Beaumont pinched the bridge of her nose and waved a hand. “Go to your room,” she ordered flatly.

“Grand-mère, I’m—”

“No,” Lady Beaumont interrupted. “Go to your room. I will have a doctor sent up to you shortly and we will speak of this insanity tomorrow.”

Trevelyan nodded, her head drooping down, and went.  


	10. ADT 3/3

** Beaumont Town House **

 Alexandra Trevelyan rolled over in her bed and sighed as she stared at the ceiling. Sleep had not come for her the night before and now the pain medicine was starting to fade. She could feel every ache and bruise this morning. She lightly prodded her black eye with a finger and winced at the pain. Her face was surely a sight. Should she cover it up or….?

Alex huffed and rose from her bed. She’d spent the rest of yesterday hiding in her room and she hadn’t dared to leave it. She thought her grandmother might have skinned her if she had made an appearance. Trevelyan had heard a distinctive Antivan voice though and she’d almost burst out of her room but the voice had faded as quickly as it had come. No doubt her grandmother had sent Josephine away and who could blame her, she thought glumly. Alex hoped she could see the Antivan again before she was sent home. She knew she needed to apologise to her tutor.

The Ostwickian sighed again and padded over to her closet. Grand-mère was an early riser so she’d better be ready to speak to her soon. She dressed quickly and was about to leave the room when she hesitated. Perhaps it would be better to wait until she was summoned? She dithered on the spot before nodding to herself. Yes, that would probably be better. Alex grabbed a book from her nightstand and walked over to the window seat. She drew back the curtains, looked out onto the dawn sky, and settled herself for a long wait.

As the light grew in her room, she could hear the house starting to come to life. Doors opened and shut, the faint sound of voices drifted up to her window and she could smell food being prepared. She flicked absentmindedly through the pages, not really taking in the words. The sun rose higher and it was about nine o’clock in the morning when the heavy thud of the front door being shut reached her. She looked up from her book and frowned. Who could be visiting this early? Alex considered peeking out of her door but knowing her luck, that would be when her grandmother decided to pass by her rooms. She shook her head and tried once more to concentrate on the words in front of her. She was struggling with a particularly archaic sentence when there was a knock at her door.

“Come in,” she called, dropping the book onto the window seat. Her bedroom door opened and Pierre poked his head in.

“Lady Beaumont wishes to see you in her salon Lady Trevelyan.”

“Of course, thank you Pierre,” she nodded to him and rose up from her seat, “I’ll be right down.” Pierre’s head retracted and she quickly crossed the room. Alex walked out onto the landing, shutting the door behind her, and trooped down the stairs. Apart from Pierre she couldn’t see a single servant. They seemed to have made themselves scarce. Alex swallowed down her feeling of dread and strode across the hall and towards the salon. Pierre opened the door for her and she trudged inside, her head bowed. There was a rustling of fabric and suddenly, gentle hands were carefully running themselves over her bandaged arm. Her head jerked upright and Alex blushed when she saw the concerned look in Josephine’s eyes.

“Are you alright?” The Antivan’s voice was melodic and Trevelyan felt a wave of warmth settle into her bones. Her lips pulled into a smile as their gazes locked.

“I’m fine. Just scratches and bumps, I promise.”

“Good.” Josephine blinked slowly, the warmth in her eyes fading, and cleared her throat. Then she stepped away with a blank face. Alex’s hands half-rose as if to pull her back but she let her arms fall. “I am glad to hear you are well, my lady. I have already explained some of the situation to Lady Beaumont but I don’t know how you managed to end up duelling in front of the Chevalier academy.” Her voice had a slightly dry edge to it but Trevelyan could see that she was subdued. A thread of worry wormed its’ way into her stomach.

“Well, you know me. I like to impress.” Alex teased the Antivan gently with a small smile but Josephine didn’t return it. The thread of worry thickened. She was about to ask what was wrong when her grandmother coughed pointedly. Lady Beaumont didn’t seem as angry as yesterday but honestly that wasn’t really saying much. A delicate mask framed her old eyes and Alex swallowed when she saw the irritation in them. “I mean, uh,” she stammered.

“It’s so pleasant to see that all that money spent on your education has been put to good use,” Lady Beaumont remarked before taking a small sip of her tea.

“It just sort of happened?”

“An honour duel does not just happen my lady,” added Josephine. Alex’s eyes widened at the stiff tone. She looked at Josephine and saw her thinning lips and the tight grip she had on her teacup. Dread pooled in her as she felt her stomach drop. There was something off here.

“Did Jo—uh, I mean, Lady Montilyet tell you about Abélard?”

“She did. Apparently, you were meant to have passed on that particular message?” Lady Beaumont asked pointedly. Alex fidgeted in her chair and winced. Was Josephine mad because of that?

“Oh. Yes. Sorry. I forgot?”

“How did such an important detail come to be forgotten?”

“Well, I, uh, you’d gone out that evening then I had an early start yesterday for the training and it just sort of slipped my mind.” Alex hesitated and scratched her head, avoiding her grandmother’s gaze. “I didn’t think Abélard would turn up that quickly,” she muttered.

“To be fair, Lady Beaumont, neither did I.” Josephine interjected. Trevelyan’s head snapped up and she gazed at the Antivan’s profile. Lady Montilyet still seemed coldly angry so why was she defending her? Lady Alexandrie Beaumont coughed again and Alex’s head jerked back to her; she felt like she was a puppet and her strings were pulling her in opposite directions.

“That as may be but I still should have been told immediately.” Grand-mère’s tone brooked no argument and Trevelyan nodded meekly.

“I’m sorry Grand-mère. It won’t happen again.”

“Hmph.” Lady Beaumont sniffed but waved a hand in acceptance. “According to the reports of the duel, you only received the cut on your arm. How exactly did you end up walking to the upper tier several hours later with a drunken steward in tow and several more injuries?” Her voice had sharpened and Alex, panicking, flicked her eyes over to the Antivan again. Lady Josephine was sitting back in her chair, calmly sipping from her own teacup and she looked like she had no intention to intervene again. Alright. Trevelyan swallowed. That was fair.

“Well, after the duel I was a bit upset and I knew you’d be angry so I decided to, um,” Alex paused and gazed up at the ceiling, hoping for a random bolt of inspiration that would save her.

“Yes, Alexandra, you decided to?” Lady Beaumont echoed. Trevelyan swallowed and avoided looking at her grandmother’s face.

“Go find a pub,” she mumbled. There was a moment of silence.

“Let me make this clear,” the Orlesian placed her teacup down on the table, “on coming to the correct conclusion that I would not be happy about you partaking in a life or death duel, you decided to increase my unhappiness by hiding in a pub and presumably drinking while I worried that you might be dead in an alleyway?” Alex flinched.

“I…I didn’t—” Her eyes moved away from the ceiling and she locked her gaze with her grandmother’s.

“Didn’t what? Hmmm? Didn’t think? Well you seem to have made a habit of it.” Lady Beaumont interrupted, her voice as cold as ice. Alex winced but didn’t break eye contact.

“I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

“What about Lady Montilyet? She came here yesterday worried that she’d be attending your funeral!” Her grandmother snapped. Alex jumped and turned to look at Josephine. The Antivan tellingly avoided her eyes. Trevelyan swallowed and she could feel her stomach drop. Ah, so that was why Josephine was mad.

“I didn’t mean to worry you Josephine. I’m sorry,” Alex said softly. Lady Montilyet’s eyes rose to meet hers but her face was as blank as any mask. Trevelyan felt her own eyes widen and had to hide a grimace at the sight of a blank gaze where there was usually so much life.

“We know you are sorry granddaughter but after the events of yesterday, there is a limit to how much an apology can fix. I presume that your other injuries are from another fight?”

“Yes, my lady. I was protecting the steward I helped home,” answered Alex. Her voice was quiet and even and she bowed her head.

“I wish that same desire to protect extended to those you care for and not just to a random day drinker in a pub!” Her Grandmother’s voice cracked and Trevelyan could hear the wealth of emotion left unsaid. Alex raised her eyes and her lips wobbled as she saw how old her grandmother looked. The Ostwickian rose from her seat and moved carefully around the coffee table. She slowly sat down next to Lady Beaumont. She reached her hands out and gently gripped her grandmother’s hand in between hers. It felt frail, almost birdlike.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know, ma Chérie, I know but it is not enough.” Her grandmother’s other hand rose up to push a tuft of hair back behind her ear, then it slid down to frame the curve of her face. “The Marquis’ various allies will come to challenge you and no one will teach you now. You will die on the blade of some young idiot and I will be able to do nothing to stop it. Do you understand? I cannot help you any further and I will not stand by and watch you die.” Lady Beaumont gently pulled her head down and placed a kiss on her forehead. Alex sniffed and her eyes began to sting with tears. She blinked rapidly but this time, a few tears fell. She couldn’t bring herself to speak in reply so she nodded and bowed her head, laying it on Lady Beaumont’s shoulder. Her grandmother’s weak arms wrapped her in a hug. Alex slammed her eyes shut desperately and choked down a sob.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered. Lady Beaumont’s arms tightened fiercely. The silence stretched but it was broken by a loud thudding at the door. A raised voice drifted into the salon, a man demanding entry. Trevelyan broke away from the embrace and scrubbed at her eyes. She sniffed again and blinked in surprise as a lace handkerchief appeared in front of her face. Josephine had moved closer to her, much closer. Alex took the handkerchief and smiled weakly at the Antivan. Josephine smiled back, her blank mask of before had melted a little, and she seemed about to say something when the salon doors burst open and a man dressed in fine clothes appeared wearing a distinctive blue mask that was edged with gold that formed twirling fleur de lis’. The blue and gold pattern rang a faint bell in her mind but she scowled at the intruder and jumped to her feet. She moved herself in between the man and the other ladies. “Who are you?” She demanded, scowling viciously. The man whipped off his mask and Alex froze with shock.

“Am I forgotten so soon my lady?” Carloman Capet asked, beaming.

“What…Carloman, what are you doing here?”

“You know Carloman Capet?” asked Josephine, her voice was half-strangled.

“Well, yeah, he’s the steward I helped yesterday. How do you know him?” Alex turned to look at the Antivan. Josephine looked like Maferath himself had just turned up in the doorway wearing the Divine’s hat.

“He is not a steward Alexandra.” Her grandmother sounded faint and Trevelyan frowned, her brows furrowing.

“Oh, sorry Carloman. Um. Who are you then?” Alex asked. There was a strangled sound behind her and Carloman seemed to become even more gleeful.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he bowed low and flourished his hands, “I am Duke Carloman of House Capet, which is the last legitimate cadet branch of the Drakon dynasty.”

“Drakon?”

“Yes.”

“As in the house of the first emperor of Orlais who also helped to found the chantry Drakon?”

“That would be the one!”

“Right,” Alex said faintly. She swallowed.

“I’d also like to take you on as my apprentice,” Carloman stated, still smiling merrily.

“Apprentice for what?” Alex was completely confused.

“In my youth, I was a general in the Orlesian army and I also trained in the way of the champion.”

“Really?” Trevelyan perked up like a dog scenting meat. “I always thought that was the best one but there’s not many people willing to teach it.”

“It is a difficult path to tread but also the most rewarding,” Carloman replied, his smile fading and his face turning serious.

“Carloman? I mean, sir, wait no, your grace?”

“Carloman is fine.” Capet answered with a small smile and Alex couldn’t help but grin in return.

“Carloman, you seem to be very important,” she hesitated, searching for the right words, and ignored a sudden coughing fit that had broken out behind her, “but I’m really not so why do you want to teach me?”

“Is that how you think it should work? Only the important people are allowed to be taught?” Capet seemed honestly interested in her reply.

“Of course not! But this is Orlais and that’s how things work here or so I’m told.” Alex frowned, her brow furrowed.

“It may be how the Game works but it is not how I choose my apprentices. Men and women from every noble rank in society have asked me to mentor them; from princes to chevaliers. You are the only noble I have met in a very long time who has acted both with honour and kindness. It is a rare combination and I would see the warrior you will become underneath my tutelage.” Carloman smiled and Trevelyan, though she was new to the Game, couldn’t see even a hint of deceit in his open gaze.

“I’m terrible at politics,” she stated flatly. There was a sudden intake of breath at her side. “I always say the wrong thing at the wrong time. I don’t think things through and I make so many mistakes. Would you still have me as your student even when I get things wrong?”

“Do you learn from your mistakes?” Carloman asked gently.

“I try to.”

“Then yes, I would.” There was another long silence.

“I would be honoured to be your student, and occasional drinking partner, if you’ll have me Carloman,” said Alex. Capet nodded solemnly but a smile quickly broke through.

“Excellent! Truly excellent!” He was about to continue when there was a pointed cough from behind Alex. Trevelyan stiffened before sheepishly moving aside. “Ah, Lady Beaumont! How are you, you old battle-axe?” Alex’s eyes widened and she choked her laughter before it could leave her mouth.

“Duke Capet, as ever it is a pleasure to see you again,” Lady Beaumont replied, ignoring the nickname. “However, is this offer of yours made in good faith?”

“It is my Lady,” replied the Duke, his voice turning serious. It was a strange sight to see on a man who had mostly been very cheerful in Alex’s presence.

“You will protect my granddaughter?”

“I will.”

“Very good then,” Lady Beaumont replied. “Please do sit, we must agree on the terms of this apprenticeship. I will stand in for my granddaughter as she has all the common sense of a goldfish.”

“Hey!” Trevelyan interrupted. Her grandmother turned her steely gaze onto her. “That’s…completely fair and I accept,” she mumbled.

“Alexandra, why don’t you escort the Lady Montilyet in a turn about the garden? She simply must experience it before autumn sets in.” Lady Beaumont’s suggestion had all the trappings of an order. Alex turned to Josephine and offered her arm to the Antivan. Lady Montilyet gently placed her arm atop of Trevelyan’s. The Ostwickian then escorted her lady from the room and closed the doors behind them. Alex seriously considered trying to eavesdrop at the door but Josephine tugged her arm gently.

“Come my lady, the garden is visible from the salon and we wouldn’t want to keep Lady Beaumont waiting.”

“Of course, Lady Montilyet.” A silence fell and Alexandra led the way to a small conservatory tucked in next to the kitchens that opened up into the garden. The double doors were open and Trevelyan could see the gardener carefully tending hanging vines in the distance. Alex led Josephine along the gravel path and into the covered walkway. Dappled sunshine struggled through the thick greenery overhead. The Ostwickian cleared her throat and broke the heavy silence.

“You should see this place in early summer. My grandmother says that when the blooms are out it’s almost unreal.”

“It sounds lovely, my lady,” Josephine replied in a neutral voice. Alex winced and stopped. She turned to look at the Antivan who was gazing back at her, seemingly as calm as a summer lake.

“I don’t…can we just talk?” Trevelyan asked, biting her lower lip.

“About what?” Lady Montilyet’s gaze never wavered.

“I…I,” Alexandra stuttered. Josephine broke her gaze and turned away. A sudden stab of disappointment filled the Ostwickian. “Wait, please.” There was a pleading edge to her voice and she knew it but Lady Montilyet turned back and beneath her gaze Alex felt a wave of courage fill her. “I made a mistake, yesterday. Several mistakes if I’m being honest.” She smiled weakly. “I was foolish and didn’t think about the people who cared for me. I know I said it earlier but I am truly sorry.” Trevelyan bit her lip and waited. The silence dragged out and she had to stop herself from fidgeting on the spot. Eventually, Josephine looked away.

“We have known each other for a scarce few weeks, my lady. You have no need to apologise to me,” Lady Montilyet replied in a flat voice. Alex stiffened her jaw and ignored the stab of hurt.

 “And in such a short time, I have come to care for you and I think, I hope,” she swallowed, her stomach roiling, “that you have come to care for me also. So, I do need to apologise to you.” Josephine turned back to face Trevelyan once more and Alex could see the mask cracking and falling away.

“When you get into a fight again, you are to return home immediately.”

“I will.”

“You will not challenge anybody else to a duel without talking it through with either me, your grandmother or Duke Capet.”

“I agree.”

“If you are challenged, you will never rescind the right of yielding. You will not die for honour; it is too small a price for your life. Am I clear?” Josephine’s eyes were filled with anger and pain but Alex didn’t reach out. The Lady Montilyet did not want her comfort, not yet.

“You are. I will abide by these terms,” Trevelyan vowed.

“Good.” Josephine’s eyes closed briefly but they fluttered open again, clearer than they had been before.

“Good,” Trevelyan echoed and smiled at the Antivan. Josephine returned the smile and squeezed her arm gently. Then the two of them started to walk again along the sunshine dappled path.


	11. Letters (An Interlude)

** JCM Letter 1 **

_To Lord Montilyet of House Montilyet in Antiva City_

Dear Papa and Mama,

The Ambassador hired me! It was a difficult job interview and I do not think he is a man to be taken lightly but I have the job! I am still settling into my new role, mostly doing paperwork and carrying things for the Ambassador but I make sure to watch him and learn as much as I can. Dandolo is a great believer in learning by doing which was nerve-wracking the first few times but I am growing to enjoy the challenges he is presenting me with.

I do miss Antiva City though, more than I thought I would. Val Royeaux is charming but it does not have the comforts of home. Don’t worry though, I have friends here and there are plenty of Antivans about who also miss home. Though between the embassy work and university, I barely have time to see them all!

How is everyone? Is Laurien still carving? Yvette still painting? Has Antoine set foot off a boat since I left? Edouard must have grown so much! Tell the others I miss them and tell Yvette to stay out of my room – I’ll know if she’s been in there when I next come home!

Oh, I can’t believe I almost forgot to mention but I am currently tutoring Alexandra Trevelyan. She’s the youngest child of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick? She is completely unsuited for an Orlesian lifestyle but I believe she may become a dear friend in future. My other dear friend is off on business so it has been most pleasing to meet with Trevelyan. I see her every week and every week she has another ridiculous story to share – perhaps I should rephrase my earlier sentence and say that the Orlesians are completely unsuited for Trevelyan’s lifestyle. She has the Maker’s luck I swear!

Oh, but enough about Trevelyan, you must write and tell me everything that is happening in Antiva City! I must go and attend to the ambassador but I promise that my next letter will be much more interesting!

With All My love,

Josephine

P.S Yvette, seriously, stay out of my room. I do not want to come home to pink walls. Again.

 

** ADT Letter 1 **

_To Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick_

Dear Father,

My studies are progressing well and I am working hard on all my courses. Unfortunately, the Marquis de Nesle was not a satisfactory tutor and I was forced to seek out another. By the Maker’s Grace, I managed to impress Duke Carloman Capet and he has agreed to become my mentor in both Orlesian society and the martial arts. Duke Capet has studied the Way of the Champion and I intend to follow in his footsteps as he has granted me a unique opportunity to learn this style. I have also found myself a politics tutor – one Lady Josephine Montilyet who has just received an appointment at the Antivan Embassy.

Grandmother is well and sends her regards.

With Best Wishes,

Alexandra Trevelyan


End file.
